Any Port In a Storm
by lizandletdie
Summary: What happens if Belle doesn't return to the Dark Castle after saving Philip? The answer to that question throws Storybrooke's much maligned "town whore" Lacey French into an unlikely friendship with the hated landlord Mr. Gold, but can their relationship survive the machinations of the mayor, the disapproval of her live-in ex-boyfriend, and the arrival of Emma Swan? Golden Lace
1. A Very Good Day

_The Enchanted Forest, two years pre-curse_

Rumpelstiltskin was surrounded by the shattered remnants of his life longer than he cared to admit, but to fix the broken glass and ruined upholstery would be to clear out the last pieces of Belle that remained and to leave her dungeon room would be to admit that she wasn't anywhere else in the castle. He wasn't quite ready to accept that yet. How had it all come to this, anyway? He just didn't know anymore.

Perhaps Maleficent had been right when she'd advised him to acquire a pet, but it was easy for her to say that when she had Regina for company and Regina in turn had her pet huntsman and her father. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have listened to them (he had barely listened to her in the first place) but Maleficent was even older than he was, she understood how so much prolonged solitude could eat away at you. Rumpelstiltskin didn't dare befriend Regina (their adversarial relationship was necessary for both his self-preservation and his ongoing plans) and the idea of having an unwilling bedmate had been less than appealing. No, he'd just wanted some little piece of companionship and Belle had _seemed_ to be perfect. She was clever and determined, and he'd liked that in her. She was brave and he admired that. She was pretty, too, and Rumpelstiltskin was a man who loved pretty things – he wasn't sure he'd ever have been rich long enough to take beauty for granted like some of the fools he made deals with (men who were born into wealth had no appreciation for truly lovely things).

He'd not looked to love her, or even thought himself really capable of it anymore – after all, if Cora had taught him nothing else she had taught him that it was pointless to love anyone when you were immortal. Loving Belle would be like falling in love with a pet dog, or at least it was supposed to be. There was no way he could have spent the rest of his life with her, he could only ever really look forward to watching her wither and die. He had thought that by bargaining for a proper lady and ripping her away from her entire life, he could have ensured that even if _he_ did grow to love _her_ that there was no way possible that she would ever love him. It had seemed absolutely perfect and safe.

Was it really less than a day since Belle – sweet, beautiful Belle – had sat on his dining table and asked why he had bargained for her? She'd thought he was lonely...if she only knew. He'd just needed to be important to _someone_. Since Bae had been lost only those who coveted his power might have cared if he lived or died. All he had wanted was someone who needed _him_, someone who would care if something happened to _him_. And Belle was so good, so kind, he'd been sure that if nothing else she would _care._ He'd be her entire world and he could love her in the way that as a younger man he would have loved a particularly good sheep dog. As something to offer affection and companionship, something to care about and indulge as long as it did its job, and something that offered absolutely no complications.

Belle, as it turned out, had offered nothing but complications.

It had been _safe _to love her from afar. The little housekeeper was so far above him in every way that Rumpelstiltskin sometimes had a hard time remembering that this was, ostensibly, his castle and not hers. She had seemed to fill it with herself, moving sweetly in and out of each room and leaving the faint smell of rosemary from the kitchen gardens and the lilac scented soap that he'd acquired because he liked the way she smiled at him when he did something unusually nice. It was never anything extravagant but each time he brought her home a present, whether it was the soap or a baked good or the damn blue work dress and lacy shift she had been sashaying around in the last few months, she always had the same reaction: she'd look at whatever it was he presented, gasp as she realized it was intended for her, and then flash him a huge grin (that started in her eyes of all places, how could one start smiling in their eyes?), and then look up at him as though it was the best gift she'd ever gotten. He'd brought her here to keep the place clean and make it feel a little less empty, not to bewitch him with eyes and smiles and lilacs.

And yet, he hadn't wanted her to _stop_, either. He could love her, enjoy her smiles and her laughter at his jokes and know it was safe because she couldn't love him, but could never leave him.

If only it had stayed _afar_ then she would still be here right now and he would still be offering her tokens of his affection that she couldn't possibly understand and she would be offering him gentle touches and sweet smiles and he would still be something resembling happy.

Instead, he was still standing in a dungeon room because if he closed his eyes and concentrated very, _very_ hard, he could almost smell her here still.

How had it all gone so wrong?

_Storybrooke, 1983_

It was October 22, and it was rent day. Mr. Gold was in his element. Rent day was the one day each month he would close the shop early and make the rounds, rain or shine. If he were being honest, he enjoyed it, though not for the reason most suspected. He didn't care about the money, particularly. Not that he didn't need to acquire it to keep his lifestyle intact, mind, but the money wasn't the reason he made the rounds rather than insisting they come to him or sending someone else. He liked to see his tenants where they lived and worked because it was the closest he would come to knowing them. Knowledge was its own sort of power, after all, and Mr. Gold was a man who loved power.

It was just past midday before he arrived at Moe French's flower shop. It was a tiny little hole in the wall – too dark to display the flowers to their best advantage, on its third name change in the last five years (currently on "The A-Zalea Team" in the same font as the logo for the television show "The A-Team" which made Gold want to stab someone), and run by a man who owed Gold quite a large sum of money.

If anything, he knew Moe French too well.

When Gold stepped into the shop, Moe would be taking inventory or be in the backroom if there were no customers. Moe liked to pretend the shop was busier than it was in hopes of preventing a foreclosure. Honestly, as long as Moe met his payments Gold couldn't care less how busy the shop was but it mattered to Moe. He liked to put on a good face.

Gold was not disappointed on entering the shop – Moe was helping the one customer in the building (the school teacher with the nun name, she wasn't one of his tenants) but quickly excused himself as soon as he saw Gold and hurried into the backroom where Gold knew the safe containing the rent was kept.

Moe French was a study in predictability, something that Gold found fascinating. Month after month, it was some variation on the same each time. Other tenants might have a new quip for him or some change in their circumstances. Moe only ever changed the name of his damned shop.

Except, this month, something different happened.

He heard the bell on Moe's door as it swung open, and the two young women who spilled into the building in a fit of giggles were definitely different.

The taller of the two – who was dressed in tight jeans and a looser top tucked into it with a large belt around her waist – he recognized as being Ruby Lucas, granddaughter of one of his tenants and the usual waitress at "Granny's" diner. The shorter, however, caught his attention simply by being _new_. He recognized her, but didn't know her name, which meant she didn't live in one of his buildings and wasn't _that_ interesting? She was a tiny thing in ridiculous stiletto heels and frilly socks. She had on a short pink sweater hanging off one shoulder and exposing her bra strap, as well as a miniskirt that made the school teacher (_Mary Margaret Blanchard!_ That was it!) blush furiously and pretend to examine a hydrangea arrangement nearby. Both women had identical makeup and their hair was so thoroughly teased he couldn't help but wonder how they got all the hairspray out. If it wasn't for their height difference he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to tell them apart.

"Hey Pop, you in here?" the shorter one shouted, jumping up and leaning over the counter next to him in order to yell at the backroom. He tried not to notice her skirt riding up, but honestly how could she not feel that draft?

Gold resisted the urge to ask her why she thought two strangers would be standing in her father's shop if the man himself wasn't in. He had a vague memory somewhere of Moe French having a daughter (_Laurie? Lisa?_), and apparently now he was looking at the woman herself. He examined her more closely, then. She was a tiny thing with horrible taste in clothes, and he could smell her cheap perfume, hairspray, and a vague scent of cigarette smoke as though she didn't smoke but she (or her clothes) spent a lot of time around people who did. She was pretty enough, he supposed, if you liked barflies. She might have been beautiful if not for the shockingly blue eyeshadow and the pink lipstick she was sporting, but even so it seemed old Moe had married a woman quite out of his league in order to produce this little siren.

Gold hadn't known the old dog had it in him.

The girl seemed to sense that she was being looked at, and turned to face him. She didn't flush or look away or behave at all as though she was intimidated by his presence. Instead, she flicked her gaze slowly up and down his body in an appraising fashion, as though sizing him up for...something.

"See something you like, dearie?" he prompted, determined to make her flinch first.

She opened her mouth and looked as though she would say something sarcastic in return, but the moment was interrupted by the return of her father.

"Lacey," Moe exclaimed (ah yes, _Lacey_, that was her name), his eyes shifting nervously between his daughter and his landlord. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't I stop in and say hi?" She was clearly going for sweet and innocent, but she didn't quite get the cadence right and the way Moe shifted uncomfortably seemed to indicate to her that she would be best served by cutting right to the point. "Ruby and I are going out to celebrate and I need to borrow some cash."

"I thought you had a new job," Moe said, handing a wad of bills to Gold who made a show of counting it in his hand more to eavesdrop than because he thought Moe would shortchange him. Moe had never shortchanged him, nobody ever did.

"What do you think we're celebrating?" Lacey replied. "I start tomorrow, and then I can pay you back."

Moe glanced between Lacey, Mary Margaret, and Gold. This was clearly not a conversation he wanted to be having in front of people. Mary Margaret politely drifted to the back of the shop, and Gold decided he had delved far enough into Moe French's personal life for the month and strode out the door. He had other rents to collect anyway, and seeing Ruby had reminded him that it was lunchtime already. He could pick up something to eat and the rent for the diner and bed & breakfast at the same time.

And if he saw a very tiny Australian woman storming out of The A-Zalea Team twenty minutes later, well, wasn't that an interesting development in father-daughter dynamics?

It was going to be a very good day.


	2. Twenty Fucking Dollars

_The Enchanted Forest, two years pre-curse_

"Oh, you're alive!" Mulan rose to her feet, but the way she wobbled and the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead belied her attempts to feign that she was feeling better.

"I uh," Belle's voice faltered as she glanced to Philip standing next to her. "I defeated the Yaoguai. With a little help."

Gods, had Mulan always been so pale? She wished she'd forced the other woman to let her check her leg injury more closely. Mulan's eyes were glassy and Belle thought she might have a fever.

"Who are you?" Mulan seemed to notice Philip for the first time once Belle had glanced towards him, which just made the other woman even more nervous.

"I was the Yaoguai," Philip explained, looking back at Belle.

Mulan looked over to Belle, a confused look on her face.

"He was cursed," Belle provided, but got no further as Mulan chose that moment to swoon.

Philip lept into action, grabbing her before she was able to fall to the ground and lowering her gently to the forest floor.

"She's burning up," he said, pressing a hand to her forehead.

Belle silently cursed her luck – she had intended to begin her return to Rumpelstiltskin tonight, to face the monster that was her true love – but there was no way she could leave Mulan like this. The other woman had rescued her, after all. Belle owed her that much.

Dropping to her knees on the ground next to her friends, Belle pulled out her small knife and quickly cut open Mulan's trousers where they covered her wounded leg. It looked horrible, red and weeping and clearly infected.

"That stubborn, hard headed woman..." she muttered under her breath and Philip pretended like he didn't hear her.

"So what should we do?" Philip asked, glancing to Belle as the _de facto_ leader of this band of misfit adventurers.

They had to get her someplace safe, that much was clear. She wasn't sure if the infection would spread so far overnight as to become deadly, but Belle also wasn't willing to risk Mulan's life to her own inexperience with medicine.

"There's a town not too far from here," she finally said. "Can you carry her?"

"I think so," Philip replied, glancing down at the small woman. "Yes, I should be able to."

Well, that was some good news at least. The town was close, but her heart ached at the realization that it was the opposite direction from the Dark Castle and _home_.

"I'm coming back, Rumple," she swore under her breath, flashing one last glance over her shoulder as Philip gathered Mulan in his arms.

And she _would_ come back – no matter what, no matter how long it took, no matter what obstacles lay in her path Belle would return to her true love. She would never stop fighting for him.

_Storybrooke, 1983_

Lacey French had long ago decided that it was time to leave Storybrooke. She, along with her best friend Ruby Lucas, had been planning how to get out of town since they were in high school. It was almost funny how little things kept coming up to get in their way.

The original plan had been to leave right after graduation, but Lacey's mother had become sick senior year and they'd decided to postpone until after she recovered. When she had instead died, they'd postponed again. Lacey couldn't leave her father, Moe, alone and he needed help running his shop in the wake of his wife's death. By their early twenties, the girls were back on track to leave town until Ruby's grandmother had suffered a heart attack and Ruby was forced to take over the diner/bed & breakfast until Mrs. Lucas was back on her feet. By her mid-twenties, Lacey had lost count of all the ways she'd failed to leave and all the reasons for staying. It just seemed like no matter what she did, something would always stop her from getting away.

So here she was, again, at twenty-seven with the only things she had to show for her life being a lot of failed dreams, a live-in boyfriend she couldn't stand the sight of, and a fairly substantial tab at the Rabbit Hole. She knew she needed a new job, since working for her father was seasonal and would not get her her own place. She had no real qualifications besides her high school diploma, and no desire to take up customer service if she could help it (she didn't have the temperament for working with the public).

"You should be a maid." Ruby had said one day over drinks.

"Me? In a ruffly little lace hat and a white apron?"

"No, you in a normal uniform and an apron. The maid service we use at the B&B is hiring and it pays pretty good."

"But maid work? Cleaning up after strangers? I don't know if I could do that."

"Would you rather clean up after Brad forever? It would pay your bar tab at least and maybe get you into a new place."

"I'll think about it." But even as she said it, Lacey knew Ruby was right. Pride was for people with options.

And so, Lacey found herself with what she was pretty sure counted as her first "real" job – on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she and the other maids would clean stores and public buildings, and Tuesdays and Thursdays she would clean private homes. There were only a few people in town who could afford (or needed) a maid service, and Lacey was responsible for three of them. Two were single men, one of whom she would visit on Tuesday and the other on Thursday, and both days she would be responsible for cleaning the mayor's house.

Apparently, she was being given the clients of another girl named Ashley who had gotten herself knocked up and found cleaning private homes too strenuous. Ashley would only be working in the public buildings, where the other girls could handle anything that might harm the baby.

It wasn't a bad job, really, she just wasn't sure when her life had become _this_. In high school, she'd had dreams. She'd even had a boyfriend who seemed on track for a football career (he had a football scholarship to the state college and everything). She sometimes wondered what life would have turned out like if George hadn't blown his knee out freshman year of college. Would he have stayed with her after her mother died, or would he have eventually left to marry one of the thousands of other, prettier, smarter girls whose fathers could afford college and who didn't lose their virginity to him in the backseat of a '69 Dodge Dart after homecoming?

George had been only her first disappointment, but he was by no means the worst. She had known Brad when she was in high school, and when she had met him again she'd thought he was The One. They'd lost touch since graduation but she had remembered him fondly and been happy when he stumbled into her at the Rabbit Hole one night. He was all blonde hair and green eyes with an easy charm and a plan for getting out of town. They went out for about eighteen months before he proposed, explaining his plan of joining the Navy and moving away with her, just like Richard Gere in _An Officer and a Gentleman_. It was impossibly romantic.

What could possibly go wrong? With visions of Hawaii and Okinawa dancing through her head, Lacey had accepted the ring only to find out that his Navy dreams were just that – dreams. A small, shared one bedroom apartment and a few years later and Lacey had been forced to accept that this relationship was going nowhere she wanted to be. She gave back the ring and moved onto the sofa, her small savings having been too far depleted by years of cohabitation to support her on the road.

But she wouldn't think about that tonight. Tonight she would be celebrating her new job and the first step in her quest to move out of her shared apartment.

Or she _would be_ if her father had loaned her the twenty fucking dollars so she could afford to go out tonight. She could ask Brad, but Lacey had enough pride to balk at the idea of begging him for money.

Anyway, if she asked him she'd have to start speaking to him and if she spoke to him he'd assume she wanted to fuck him and Lacey did not want to deal with Brad or his cock tonight (or ever again, actually).

"Let's just go out anyway," Ruby finally called out from behind her.

Lacey hadn't even realized that her friend had followed her as she stormed out of her father's shop, but probably should have.

"Someone will buy us drinks," Ruby continued. "Keith is always trying to get your attention."

"Keith is a sleaze," Lacey huffed, finally stopping in the middle of the street out of the realization that she had nowhere to go.

"Tom Clark, then," Ruby replied.

Lacey debated this for a minute. The pharmacist was usually good for a beer or two and a game of pool and if she said she was celebrating a new job, he might even be willing to cover her for the night if she promised to return the favor later.

Ugh, she _hated_ this. She hated this mercenary appraisal of people who were, more or less, her friends (or at least the closest things she had besides Ruby). She never saw them except at the bar, and if they saw each other in the street would never acknowledge their shared connection. She tolerated them because she couldn't afford her lifestyle otherwise, and they paid for her drinks because she gave them the time of day under the cover of darkness in a smokey room full of near strangers.

"Alright," she finally said. "We'll go out anyway, but if Keith or Brad show up we are _not_ taking drinks from either of them."

"Agreed," Ruby said with a relieved smile. "Come on, let's go to the diner. I'll get you a burger."

Lacey nodded, following Ruby into the diner her grandmother owned. Mrs. Lucas was friendly enough to Lacey, but she knew the older woman disapproved of Ruby's choices (and, by extension, her association with Lacey whom she perceived as being a bad influence).

This free burger was going to come with a lot of passive-aggressive barbs about everything from her clothing to her living situation. It was okay, though. Lacey didn't really care what people thought of her anymore. She'd done enough caring for one lifetime and if people thought poorly of her for how she chose to live her life then there was nothing she could do about that anymore. A reputation was easier to acquire than it was to lose, and Lacey certainly had a _reputation_ around town.

"Look at you two," Mrs. Lucas' voice rang out from behind the counter as they walked through the door. "All dolled up."

"Lacey got a new job," Ruby said cheerfully as they approached the counter. "I said I'd buy her lunch to celebrate."

"This job wouldn't be on a street corner, would it?"

"I'm cleaning houses, actually," Lacey said with all the dignity she could muster as she hopped up onto a stool.

"Well good for you," Mrs. Lucas replied, writing out the girls' usual orders and hanging them up on the little clips the cooks used in the kitchen. "When do you start?"

"Tomorrow morning," Lacey said, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. She'd found it served her better to pretend like she cared about nothing when discussing her life with anyone else, she was only ever disappointed with their opinions.

"Well, good luck to you," Mrs. Lucas said as she walked off to take the orders of a group that had walked in.

"Don't listen to her," Ruby said softly once her grandmother was out of earshot. "She just thinks we go out too much, and that's her way of trying to get us to stop."

Lacey said nothing, she knew _why_ Ruby's grandmother said those things to them, and the truth was she didn't say anything that everyone else wasn't already saying behind their backs. At least Mrs. Lucas had the grace to give the girls a chance to defend themselves.

She had nearly gotten over the earlier insinuations when she felt a prickling at the back of her neck as though someone was watching her. She'd really had enough of this for the day, so perhaps she reacted with a bit more temper than usual when she spied the same old man who had stared at her so intensely at her father's shop sitting in a booth nearby, his eyes still fixed on her.

She couldn't help but feel a little relieved seeing him; she was desperate for someone to unleash all the day's anger at and if he thought she was the sort of girl to play coy when some old bastard made eyes at her like a piece of meat he had another thing coming.

"Lacey, where are you going?" Ruby whispered as Lacey climbed off her seat and began walking towards the guy. "Lacey, no!"

Lacey ignored her friend's attempts to call her back, storming over and placing both hands on his table to look down on him – a delightful novelty for her.

"Are you following me?" she demanded.

He was briefly shocked, as though not realizing she might actually have a spine, but recovered quickly.

"If you'll remember, dearie," he said in a perfectly calm voice, "I was at your father's shop before you were. And I was here first, too. If anything, you're following me."

"Yes, well I'm not the one staring at you behind your back am I?"

He shrugged in the most irritating fashion she'd ever seen, shuffling his menu as though it wasn't worth looking if he had to look her in the eye.

She snatched the menu out of his hand and slammed it down.

"My apologies, Miss French," he finally replied, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "You've caught me. I looked at a person in a public place. Shall we involve the sheriff? I'm sure there must be a law on the books somewhere about seeing the same woman twice in a day."

"You're a bastard," she hissed at him. She would have continued, but Mrs. Lucas had rushed over as soon as she noticed the confrontation to push a wad of bills at the man.

"Lacey," she scolded her as though she were a child and Lacey felt her face flush with anger. "Stop bothering Mr. Gold."

"Oh no bother at all, Mrs. Lucas," the man identified as Mr. Gold said in a cold voice. "Miss French and I were just having a simple conversation. We're done now, aren't we dearie?"

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him, she knew _of_ Mr. Gold, of course. He owned half the damn town, after all, how could she not know him? That didn't mean he owned _her_ though, dammit.

"Just about," she said as easily as she could, reaching out and swatting his glass of water into his lap. "Now we're done."

To his credit, Mr. Gold never said a word against her as he mopped the spill up off his pants, nor did he insist Mrs. Lucas kick her and Ruby out.

A small victory was still a victory, and Lacey was willing to take whatever she could get.


	3. The Dragon's Hoard

_The Enchanted Forest, about four months previous_

Rumpelstiltskin would never admit to his little infatuation if Belle asked – he'd rather cut off one of his own hands than admit to any tender feelings for her. After all, he was the Dark One. He was the monster mothers warned their children of – the Spinner. He dealt for _infants_ for goodness sake. He was _scary,_ dammit! She should be frightened, but instead the new maid insisted on being _companionable._ He should have seen this coming, shouldn't have given her the pillow when she cried. It had been a slippery slope and he'd stumbled down it head first.

After he gave her the pillow, he had taken her hunting for the thief and on returning he had instructed her to clean the library. He'd always meant to add a library to the castle, that was nothing special. But she had looked at him like..._that._ Well, he'd not been able to help himself after. If had Belle found anything strange about the warm new blanket that was on her pallet when she returned to her room that night, she had been smart enough not to say anything to him about it.

She was warming to him, which was dangerous. It probably had something to do with the new four-poster bed and vanity that had recently appeared in her room as though by accident. Or the wardrobe full of clothes (she seemed to prefer the blue dress, as it was the easiest to work in, but he didn't see why she shouldn't have the _option_ of one of the various ballgowns in case of a surprise ball). Or perhaps it was the window that somehow looked out over the lake even though the nearest lake was a good twenty miles away and her room was below ground. It could, he conceded, also be the fact that the room now sported vaulted ceilings and walls coated in tapestries along with a carpet so plush that he'd not slept in a bed that soft until after he'd moved into the Dark Castle.

Oh gods, he was hopeless. There were princesses who didn't sleep in as much luxury as his maid did. He'd actually be surprised if she'd had half so many nice things when she had been home as she did here. He didn't _mean_ to acquire her so many fripperies, but sometimes deals had to be made for what was at hand and if what was at hand happened to be something that reminded him of Belle or that he had no use for then well, it was silly to _not_ let her have it.

Scarier still, there were moments when he thought she might understand his feelings and maybe even reciprocate. Those were the worst days, because they were false hope. He'd thought about this longer than he cared to admit even to himself, but there was no rational way that Belle could feel the same way he did. He was evil, he was a ruined soul, he was ugly and twisted by a blackness she could not possibly comprehend. He was ancient and terrible and she was..._Belle._ She was kindness and light and music fluttering from room to room barely even bothering to dust and doing a terrible job when she did, truly.

If he wasn't so cowardly, so _selfish_, he'd send her home now with a dowry and a story of how her innocence and stalwart good cheer had melted the darkest heart in the land reforming his wicked ways and setting him on a path to righteousness. He could, he realized, do that. It wasn't terribly far from the truth anyway, and really he only had a few more deals to make to achieve his end goal. Only one of them (which had already been set in motion anyway) required him doing something truly evil. He could make her the heroine of the tale and spirit her away to a life of contentment with a husband and love and a family to call her own.

But Rumpelstiltskin had always been a coward, and loss had made him selfish. He would clutch her close to him and guard her like a dragon keeps its hoard, the secret bright spot in his life. As long as she could never truly love him back, they were both safe.

He would just have to try to be extra terrifying from now on.

_Storybrook, 1983_

Gold knew he should probably be angry with Lacey French, but he just wasn't. For one thing, she'd had a point – he had been staring. But there was more to it than that now, now she was _interesting._

He'd obviously been interested in her before, granted. She was a pretty girl with a nice enough body and he was only a man and he was bound to look (he _may_ have crossed the line into ogling), but mostly he'd been curious. She was new and he wasn't used to meeting new people. She'd not flinched away from him at her father's shop even as she'd been obviously uncomfortable asking for the money, and she'd accepted Mrs. Lucas' scorn with nary a word spoken in her own defense. She'd poured a glass of water on him for staring at her, but she had also clearly dressed to attract male attention. Miss Lacey French was a mystery and it had been too long since he'd had one of those.

Still, he'd have to tread more carefully around her lest she start tossing other things in his lap the next time she saw him. Water was easy enough to deal with (although it had been a pain going home and changing suits), but were she to graduate into condiments and sauces he might find himself wishing he'd kept his interest more subtle.

Oh hell, and the new maid started tomorrow. Apparently, Ashley Boyd found cleaning private houses too difficult in her current condition – what she really meant, of course, was that she found it uncomfortable to be around the man who had arranged for her to sell her baby – and as a result she had to cut back. Gold liked to be around when a new maid started, just to make sure they knew their job and didn't plan on stealing from him. It wasn't hard work (he lived alone, after all), but he expected it to be done correctly and professionally. He'd just have to arrange to do some work from home tomorrow afternoon.

The next day found Mr. Gold in a worse mood than before. He was always a little testy after rent day (the walking tended to exacerbate the problems with his ankle), and this morning also found the mayor storming into his shop on a tear about something or another. That woman was absolutely unhinged, and frankly she'd be lucky if she survived the year without ending up in the secret psych ward under the hospital she thought no one knew about.

Regina had managed to slow down his progress sufficiently that he wasn't ready to leave before lunch, meaning he wouldn't be there to meet the new maid when she arrived. He was a creature of habit, and he disliked having his habits upended by anything, but a woman shrieking nonsense and expecting him to remember it was well and truly not the way he had hoped for his morning to go.

By the time he finally parked his Cadillac in front of his salmon colored Victorian home outside of town, he was fairly certain this maid was going to run out crying before the day was out in which case he'd have to start the whole damned process over again with a new girl. Regina could consider her welcome officially worn out if this happened again.

He let himself in through the front door and, not seeing anyone on the ground floor, made his way upstairs. It was in the upstairs study that he finally located the woman in question. She was small in stature, but oddly familiar looking standing on a step ladder and dusting his tchotchkes. Her back was towards him, and she was dancing a little to music blasting through a pair of headphones connected to a tape deck attached to her uniform. Gold had the briefest sensation of deja vu watching her, which was the only reason he could give for why he stood there like a statue watching her work far longer than what would have been comfortable for either of them.

She finally set the last item down on the shelf and glanced behind her in preparation to descend the ladder. When she saw him, though, she yelped in surprise and he could see the moment she lost her balance. Everything seemed to work in slow motion as he lunged forward just in time to catch Lacey French in his arms before she came crashing to the floor. Well, he amended to himself, _catch_ might be too strong a word. She stumbled into him and he was there to prevent her stumbling onto the floor. Still, though, he mentally congratulated himself on his quick reflexes even as his ankle quietly reminded him he wasn't 30 anymore.

"Jesus, Gold," Lacey exclaimed, her headphones now around her neck and the sounds of a man doing what could be generously called 'singing' reached his ears. "Am I going to have to get a restraining order to get you to stop staring at me?"

"You're in my house, dearie," he reminded her, his hackles instantly raised by her statement. "And I believe a 'thank you' is traditional when someone saves your fool neck because you're stupid enough to be standing on a ladder listening to whatever the hell _that_ is in a stranger's house."

"It's Billy Idol," she looked at him as though he were the one with something to apologize for. "And I guess I'm to assume you're my Tuesday afternoon bachelor. Fucking fantastic, of course I get the creepy guy."

"It's my house," he reminded her testily. "I can do whatever I damn well please here."

"Yeah, well see how far that gets you," she fumed as she grabbed her ladder and moved it over to the next shelf along the wall.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" she snapped. "I'm finishing my job."

"You're not leaving?"

"Look," she hissed, spinning to face him once again. "I need this job. Unlike you, some of us have to work for a living and this is all I'm qualified for. So unless you'd like to wait for the agency to find someone else desperate enough to clean your house – and I'm going to assume it will be a _long_ wait – you can just shut up and let me finish. Or watch, if that's what you're into."

She wasn't scared of him, he realized belatedly as she put her headphones back on and ascended the ladder to begin working on the next shelf in line. She legitimately was not afraid of him or his reputation. He couldn't even begin to understand how to handle that. She should be afraid of him. He was bigger than her, he was stronger than her, he could buy whatever hole in the wall building she lived in and sell it out from under her, he could have her fired, he could do any number of things to ruin her life and she simply refused to be afraid of him.

He stood there dumbstruck for awhile, staring at her back as she picked up each item in turn, cleaned it, and set it back down. He couldn't remember the last time someone wasn't afraid of him.

Finally, more out of a sense of self-preservation than anything else (she had a number of cleaning products containing bleach available to her, after all) he finally managed to tear himself away and move to the desk. He had planned to do work, after all, while she was here.

If he spent more time staring at Lacey than he did at the contracts he was working on, well, she didn't seem to notice (or at least she pretended not to). And if he found himself in need of a snack by the time she made her way into the kitchen, she pretended not to notice him there as well.

Maybe he could get used to her working here, he finally conceded. She was interesting, and at least in the privacy of his home she seemed willing to let him indulge his curiosity. Surely that was all it was, an idle curiosity about a woman who didn't behave like he would have expected her to, and definitely not anything deeper or more dangerous than that.

By the time she had finished for the day and was preparing to leave, Lacey seemed to have gotten over her initial distaste of him. She even sought him out to tell him she was about to go.

"Thank you, Miss French," he said, rising from his seat and moving to walk her to the door. "I suppose you'll be back next week?"

"I had planned on it," she said cautiously, half asking him if he wanted her to return after she had yelled at him.

"Well, you've done an excellent job," he conceded.

And it was true, the place had been filthy and Lacey had far exceeded her expectations.

"That's good," she said with a shrug. "I suppose odds were I had to have one skill outside of hustling pool."

He half wanted to ask the story behind that statement, that little bit of self-deprecation she had used, but to do so would be to invite an intimacy with her and he was suddenly wary.

"Oh and by the way," he said as he opened the door for her, she looked a bit confused at his gesture before stepping through it. "I'll not be calling for a replacement for next week."

She smiled at that, not one of her angry smiles or one calculated to get a reaction from him. In fact, he doubted she realized she'd done it – she was simply glad to be allowed to come back and clean again. She must really be desperate for the money.

He pulled out his wallet, then, and removed a twenty-dollar bill. The look of shock on her face only grew as he handed it to her. She stared down at the cash in her hand for a little while, seemingly trying to determine the proper response to a tip that large, and a little imp in the back of his head insisted he not leave it at that and risk her thinking he liked her.

"So you can buy a longer skirt," he said, the edge to his voice hiding how much he regretted the words even as he said them.

Still, he couldn't take them back now and the look of outrage on her face as he shut the door satisfied whatever evil urge had summoned them in the first place.

He heard her outraged shriek from his position just inside, and she banged on the door a few times but he couldn't bring himself to answer and face her wrath.

He'd half expected the money to be shoved through the mail slot at him, but when he opened the door after she left, both Lacey and the $20 had gone. He was glad for that, though, because she would probably put the money to better use than he would and honestly he'd wanted her to have it. She probably deserved some sort of hazard pay for putting up with him.


	4. Racy Lacey

_The Enchanted Forest, one and a half years pre-curse_

It had taken longer than Belle would have liked for Mulan to return to full health. She'd gotten blood poisoning and it had seemingly taken forever to get her back on her feet. Belle and Philip had remained in the town while she recuperated. Belle's purse had been fairly generous, having helped herself to some of Rumpelstiltskin's gold before leaving (he'd kicked her out, he could damn well pay for her to go home), but the cost of doctors, food, and rented rooms had quickly run through most of her reserves.

Belle had honestly been surprised when Philip had stayed with them the entire time, but she'd been grateful. Mulan spent a lot of time unconscious while recuperating and while Belle could read the local language fluently, her mastery of it's spoken form was fairly lackluster. She and Philip had bonded over their own sad love stories – it turned out that he had been transformed into the Yaoguai by a dark fairy named Maleficent to prevent him from rescuing his true love Aurora, who was under a terrible sleeping curse.

Finally, after too many weeks lost to idleness in a small town, Mulan was finally recovered and the trio was able to move along. Belle had intended to leave them straight away once Mulan was recovered, but even once she was well enough to travel Belle still didn't feel right abandoning them to their fates. The closest safe sanctuary was her father's home, Philip's kingdom being far in the south and the Dark Castle would only be safe for her to go to alone. So it was decided that the trio would head for Avonlea first to regroup. From there, Philip and Mulan would escort Belle west to the borders of Rumpelstiltskin's land before heading south again to try to save Aurora. She was sure her father would be happy to see her again and know she was safe at the very least, even if he was going to have a hard time accepting her decision to leave later.

When they first entered the city, Belle had been relieved to see that Rumple had kept his end of their deal. She'd not expected him to go back on his word, but to see with her own eyes that her people now flourished soothed her in a way she'd not expected. Seeing the castle she'd once called home again had brought her a strange sense of accomplishment, as well.

_ I did that,_ Belle had realized. _I made this possible._

There was a time when she would have ridden through the walls into the courtyard in a carriage with a team of servants, and fortunately the guards were men who had served her father for years and they recognized her as the lord's daughter immediately. A boy was sent with a message to the lord while Belle, Mulan, and Philip were given an escort for the last feet of their journey.

By the time she and her friends were brought into the throne room, her father was already pacing anxiously.

"Belle!" he exclaimed, rushing to engulf her in a hug. "My darling girl. You're home, you're safe."

"It's alright, Papa," she said with a smile. "I was never in any danger."

"Your poor father was right to worry," a familiar voice cooed from behind her and Belle went instantly stiff, drawing her small knife and spinning to face the threat.

Philip and Mulan followed her cue, drawing their swords and positioning themselves in front of her. Had Belle not been so fixated on the figure in black as she strode across the room towards them, she might have been surprised to see the guards with drawn swords pointed not at the witch next to them, but at Philip and Mulan.

"Belle, don't," her father pleaded, his hands coming to her arms to try to stop her, but Belle would not be swayed.

"You're the one I met on the road," Belle hated the small tremor in her voice that betrayed her nervousness at facing her again. What had Rumple called her? "You're the queen!"

"She's our guest," her father was trying to restrain her more seriously now but Belle shook him off and retreated slowly towards the nearest door. She had to escape.

"Don't be too harsh, Lord Maurice," the queen was saying. "The poor girl has had quite an ordeal!"

"You tricked me!" Belle shouted. "You made him cast me out!"

"You see?" Regina said, obviously continuing a conversation she and Maurice had started before Belle came along. "The child is under a terrible curse. I'm afraid she fancies herself quite in love with him."

Oh gods, it had been a trap. It had been a trap all along and Belle had fallen into it. Guards forced Philip and Mulan to surrender their weapons, leaving Belle wielding her knife still, but surrounded on all sides. She had to get out and only one person could save her.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" she shouted. She knew _she _could control him, she could keep him from hurting anyone. She just needed him to save her.

So why wasn't he coming?

"Rumpelstiltskin?" she tried again. She knew he could hear his name, was he still angry with her? "Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin!"

"It's no use, child," the queen said with a self-satisfied smirk. "There are wards placed around this castle. He can't be called from within its boundaries."

It was then that Belle's blood ran cold. So there was no hope, then. She had no help coming, no hope of returning to her true love. She barely even noticed when one of the guards snuck up behind her, wrapping her in his arms and squeezing her wrist until the knife dropped to the ground with a clatter of finality.

"I can't thank you enough for helping return my daughter to me," her father was saying to the queen. "Is there anything that can be done for her curse?"

"It's a difficult one to be sure," the queen replied absently. "But there's always a cure. True loves kiss can break any curse."

She said the last with a wicked smile directed at Belle, a mocking smile intended to lord this victory over her.

"My advice," the queen continued. "Is to marry her off as quickly as possible."

"But how can I be sure of finding her true love?" her father sounded anxious now, seeing the flaw in Regina's advice instantly, and Belle was almost proud of him.

"It's a simple enough trick," Regina said. "The curse alters her feelings for a person to their natural opposite. The man she hates the most would be her true love."

"My true love is Rumpelstiltskin," Belle interrupted. "He's not a beast, Papa. I love him. I'm not cursed!"

Her father blanched at that, and Belle realized her error too late.

"See what I mean?" Regina said flippantly. "Find a man she can't stand, and he'll be able to break her curse."

"He'll come for me," Belle swore, sparing a glance at her friends. "Eventually he will come looking for me! You can't keep word of me being here secret forever."

"Don't worry your precious little head on that score, child," the queen strode over and cupped Belle's face in her hand maternally. "You just leave the imp to me."

_Storybrook, 1983_

Lacey spent the walk home fuming. How _dare_ he? How dare he try to make her feel small? Yes, when he met her, she had been wearing a very short skirt. But he had been the one who had insisted on staring at her the entire time she'd known him _even when she was wearing her uniform._ Why was it considered degrading for _her_ that he was too weak to not become distracted by her fucking _knees_? They were knees, as far as she could tell, he had a pair of his own.

She was going to have to figure out some way to get back at him that wouldn't result in her being arrested or fired, that was all there was to it. She could not let him push her. She knew his type, he was the sort to keep pushing at any button he could find until she snapped. Lacey wasn't stupid, and she wasn't ignorant. She knew that she had a reputation, she knew that people thought she was easy. The truth was not nearly as interesting or scandalous as everyone else thought, but since when did that make a difference? The difference between a slut and a good girl was having a partner who talked. Lacey had made that mistake one time too many, and found out too late that being easy wasn't something you could just _undo_.

Maybe it was too much to hope that her reputation hadn't followed her out into this part of her life as well, but it was rapidly becoming apparent that it had. If he was already driven to the point of distraction by her thighs, then she really only had one course of action available to her. By the time she got home, a plan was already beginning to form. She had the twenty dollars he'd given her, but she'd prefer to stick that away someplace. It would have made a pretty nice dent in her bar tab but a few more tips like that plus her regular paycheck and she'd be able to afford first and last months rent on a place of her own. As she ascended the stairs of her building and braced herself for whatever she'd find inside the living room, she repeated that as a mantra. She was only a few months away from her freedom.

Brad was, of course, already home when she opened the door. She wasn't even surprised to see Keith lounging on the sofa with him. Fucking fantastic.

She barely acknowledge the two men drinking in the living room, instead just storming past them into the bedroom to retrieve a change of clothes. She would strip in the bathroom with the door locked, not trusting to have privacy anywhere else in the house. Brad was having a difficult time accepting that things were over as long as she still lived there and Keith had always been a little obsessed with her. As long as she'd been with his friend, he'd not pressed the issue, but once she moved out onto the sofa she could see the gears in his head spinning. She had a sense he wasn't inclined to take no for an answer if she gave him half a chance to push the issue.

It was the work of a few minutes to change into leggings and a _Flashdance_ inspired sweatshirt (Lacey and Ruby had both become obsessed with the film, and both now owned more than one sweatshirt with the neck cut out) and fix her hair and makeup. She would go out. Ruby would help settle her nerves after this first day, which had been stressful beginning to end. The mayor had only stayed a few hours of the morning, acclimating Lacey to the layout of the house and explaining her expectations. Tuesdays she would clean the downstairs and Thursdays would be the upstairs. Then the mayor had stayed longer, watching her as well, though not like Mr. Gold had. Gold had observed her like a curiosity, as though he were fascinated and trying to work something out as he looked at her. She wasn't comfortable with it, but she was used to that sort of appraising gaze from men (and sometimes women). Usually it meant they wanted to know if she would sleep with them. The mayor, though, had looked at her like a spider eyes a fly that had wandered too close to its web but hadn't realized yet that struggling only pulled the threads tighter and trapped it further.

Lacey wasn't sure she'd breathed at all before Regina finally got an urgent phone call and was forced to scurry off and leave her to her work. Really, when she thought about it, it was almost a relief that Gold so openly antagonized her. At least he had given her the ability to fight back, unlike the mayor who just set her on edge.

Regina Mills was a lot like Keith in that respect, now that Lacey thought about it.

When Lacey finally emerged, she realized she'd not eaten yet. Well, Ruby could wait that long at least. Lacey wouldn't save any money if she made a habit of eating out – and besides, it was her house, too.

"Hey Lace, can you get me another beer?" Brad's voice called to her from the living room even as she opened the fridge.

"Get it yourself," she yelled, realizing she was going to settle for a peanut butter sandwich or she was going to go buy dinner, the nickname and proximity to the two men setting her on edge.

"Oh come on, babe," he crooned, his voice a little slurred already from drink. "Why are you being like that?"

"I'm not your babe," she reminded him. He needed to wrap his head around that fact and soon.

She could hear them talking as she prepared her sandwich, hopping up on the counter to eat it rather than risk them seeing her. She had it half eaten before Keith finally wandered into the kitchen. They weren't drunk yet, thank God, but Keith was one of those heavy drinkers who always seemed a little off-kilter whether he'd been drinking or not.

"So Lacey," he said cheerfully, pulling two cans out of the fridge and popping one open. "I hear you're working a new job now. Maid work?"

She rolled her eyes but he seemed not to notice her annoyance, leaning next to where she sat and taking a sip of his drink.

"So how much does it cost?" he asked.

"More than you've got," she replied, hopping off her counter and setting her plate in the sink. She'd rather not eat than deal with him today.

"Do you wear one of those little black dresses with the frilly bits?" he laughed at his own terrible joke.

She went to brush past him out of the kitchen, but he blocked her with his body, leaning over her in a manner she was sure he found flirtatious.

"Racy Lacey on her hands and knees cleaning floors." He chuckled at his own non-joke and she stood her ground. He would swoop in the moment he smelled weakness on her.

"I think Brad is going to miss you if you don't get back to him soon," she replied, refusing to be cowed by his behavior. "Or his beer."

Keith chuckled at that.

"I'm just saying," he wiped his face in his hand and gave her body a slow perusal. "If you ever get sick of cleaning for rich people and sleeping on the sofa, I've got a place you can stay."

"Get out of my way, Keith."

She managed not to physically recoil as she slipped under his arm and stormed out of the house, neither man bothering to acknowledge her as she left. She needed to walk it off. Just get out of the house and escape for a few moments. Hopefully by the time she returned they'd be out drinking or passed out in the living room, in which case she'd lock the door to the bedroom and sleep in a real bed that night.

At least Keith had provided her with an idea for her retaliation against Gold. She was fairly sure Ruby had the things she would need, and if she didn't then Lacey still had the $20 in her pocket like a safety net. She could spare a little bit of it to make his life a living hell.

She just had to survive a few more months and then everything would be better, she swore to herself. Just a few months.


	5. Pax

_The Enchanted Forest, one and a half years pre-curse_

"Flimsy locks!" Regina's voice rang out through empty halls, and Rumpelstiltskin bristled at her familiarity in his home.

"I have a deal to discuss," she continued on as though he weren't ignoring her. "A certain...mermaid."

"I'm not dealing today," he said, returning to his spinning wheel.

He had no desire to have Regina lord his failure over him, and no need to deal with her for a few weeks yet. She would keep.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked. "What is it this time?"

"Your little deception failed," he replied, his voice hard. "You'll never be as strong as me. You can keep trying, dearie. You're never going to beat me."

"Oohhh," Regina cooed mockingly. "Is this about the girl I met on the road? What was her name? Margie? Verna."

"Belle," he whispered, almost without meaning to.

"Right," Regina replied. "Well, you can rest assured she's in a better place now."

"What?" he hissed, turning to face her.

"You don't know?" Regina's voice was mocking him and he hated it, hated her for _knowing._ That was the worst part. It wasn't just that Belle had betrayed him, not just that he missed her despite all that, or that she'd broken his heart. But Regina _knew_ what she'd done to him and that was the worst. He just wanted to lick his wounds in peace.

"Well, after she got home her fiance had gone missing," Regina said, taking a sip of the tea he'd not even noticed her preparing for herself. "And after she had sacrificed herself to save her people, well, she wasn't going to remain unmarried for long."

He could see where this was going and was desperate for her to stop talking, but not hearing what she said wouldn't make it stop being true.

"What are you telling me?" he finally forced out.

"She fell in love," Regina set her cup down on the table. "I understand the bridegroom is quite fetching. The wedding will be as soon as can be arranged."

"Get out," he forced out between clenched teeth, gesturing towards the door for her to leave.

Regina eyed him before setting her cup back down.

"Fine," she hissed. "I have other calls to make."

As she stalked towards the door, she cast one last glance over her shoulder at him.

"You seem tired, Rumple," she said with a wicked smile. "Has your bed been too cold?"

She was lucky he needed her too much to strangle her now.

In his weaker moments, Rumpelstiltskin had hoped for Belle to return to him. He'd have forgiven her, he had been close to forgiving her already. He'd overreacted, and he'd known it even as he was doing it. If she'd just come back, he'd have told her that he had been wrong. He loved her and she'd just scared him was all, she should have asked him about the curse. Honestly he'd spent the last six months half expecting her to arrive at any moment and demand he hear her side of the story.

At least now he knew why that moment had never come.

By the time Rumpelstiltskin had finished his destruction, nothing remained in the Dark Castle to remind him of Belle. Nothing except for her chipped cup, which he would keep always as a reminder that no one could ever love him, because if the kindest woman he'd ever known would leave him, then what hope was there ever again?

_Storybrooke, 1983_

Tuesday rolled around again before Gold knew it. It was a lovely day in late October – a bit chilly but the shining sun had him in a good mood. And it was definitely a result of the weather and not that his maid was coming today. Lacey French had spent far too much time in his thoughts lately for comfort. Oddly, it wasn't her legs or shapely rear or modest bosom that were giving him fits. He would have understood that, at least. There were prettier girls in town than Lacey French, but she did dress provocatively and it wouldn't be at all surprising for a man to find her arousing. But no, what kept him awake at night was the image of blue eyes flashing in anger at him and a saucy mouth spitting vitriol in a soft accent.

This was a disturbing turn of events, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

Clearly the only solution to his problem was to stay away from home on Tuesday afternoons – which shouldn't be too hard in theory since he was away from home most afternoons, but in practice he'd failed miserably. Honestly, Lacey was a competent maid and didn't seem the type to steal so there was really no need to be with her while she was there except that he found himself inexplicably drawn back home only a few hours after lunch. A most disturbing turn of events indeed.

Lacey was still there when he arrived – he could tell because her coat was hanging in the hallway. He would make a show of not looking for her. He would sort the mail, put away his things, let her know he was there, and then do some work from home. No more following her around the house, no more watching her clean. He was a grown man, he had absolutely no reason to be mooning after the poor girl.

He did very well with his decision until he actually saw Lacey. When he found her, she was in the process of cleaning in his office again. He even saw her little stepladder sitting next to the shelves, but he wondered if she hadn't heard him come in because she was not standing on it. She was instead bent over and fussing with the vacuum. That wasn't the suspicious part, though. There were a million reasons Lacey might be bent over in full view, but the fact that she was wearing an excruciatingly short black dress, a lace cap, a small white apron, and those damn stiletto heels she wore everywhere else in town certainly spoke of some plot or another.

"Miss French," he called her name, clearing his throat in the process.

She turned her head towards him before standing up slowly.

"Oh, Mr. Gold," her face was an absolute picture of the same faux-innocence she'd put on to ask her father for money and he wasn't at all sure he liked it. "I didn't think you'd be home so early."

As she turned her body towards him he realized that her dress was just as low cut in the front as one would expect from what appeared now to be a Halloween costume. He was fairly sure he was going to have an aneurysm if he couldn't find a safe place to look. Even her face seemed too risky now, so he settled for a spot on the wall just over her left shoulder.

"Miss French, what in God's name are you wearing?"

"You don't like it?" she pouted prettily, spinning slowly. "But you spent so much time watching me clean last week I thought for sure you'd appreciate this."

He clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might break one. So this was her revenge, then. She was original, he'd give her that. He doubted there were many girls with enough guts to pull something like this on a man who they despised for staring at them.

"Alright," he said softly trying to keep her in view (although just out of focus) to make sure she didn't sneak up on him. "You've made your point, Miss French."

"Have I?" she leaned against the desk and he knew – _knew!_ – that her skirt was riding up in the front and he was damn near certain he was spraining something by not looking but he just couldn't see that. "And what point would that be?"

It was actually a little confusing how little he wanted to see her do this. He didn't _want_ to be the target of this game, he realized. He liked her. He didn't like her body, he liked _her_. He liked that she was the sort of girl who would slap a glass of water on a man who was staring at her and who would finish cleaning his house – and do it well – because she had too much pride to back down from the challenge. He even liked that she'd done all this, not because it was enticing (though it was) but because she had challenged him again. In a town filled with people who crossed the street to avoid him, from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, Lacey French had pushed back at every available opportunity.

"_Pax_," he finally said, his hands held up and his eyes fixed firmly on her face. "You win, you were right."

She crossed her arms across her chest and leveled a glare at him.

"Right about what?" she demanded and he liked that she was challenging him on this, too, because as much as he didn't want to admit his own fault he admired the way she demanded his respect even dressed the way she was.

"Last week I was horribly rude, and I did stare at your ass in your father's shop." She seemed mildly pleased by this, but pride forced him to continue. "_But_ in my defense, when you leaned over the counter I could see your panties and I was wondering if you didn't notice your skirt had come up."

"And at the diner?" she prompted, still glaring daggers at him but less perturbed by his admission than he'd have thought.

"At the diner I was trying to decide why you dress like you do if you were going to be so bothered by the implication that you've taken up hooking."

"You're an asshole," she spat at him. "And I'm sure you were only ever concerned for _my_ comfort and modesty. But thank you for apologizing at least."

He lowered his hands and held one out for her to shake.

"Shall we call a truce, then? I'm rather concerned for my own health if I stay on your bad side, frankly."

She eyed him warily before stepping forward and taking his proffered hand.

"Fine," she said. "But if I catch you staring again all bets are off."

"Will you answer me one question, though?"

"Depends on the question."

"How on Earth do you walk in those heels?"

She laughed a little at that, her smile reaching her eyes.

"Loads of practice. I've been short my entire life so as soon as I was old enough I started wearing heels just so people wouldn't think Ruby was my mother."

"Has that ever happened?"

"Once or twice," she admitted with a smile. "Ruby was not happy about that, either."

"Well, now that we're on good terms, would you like to change into your regular clothes before continuing? I somehow don't think you wore that to the mayor's house."

"Oh my God, can you imagine her face?" Lacey giggled. "That woman watches me more closely than you do, I swear."

"Yes, our dear mayor is a bit unhinged at times. Perhaps the shock of it all would finally do her in?"

Lacey was smiling at him and he found he liked it. It was nice to have this sort of conversation with another person, just a simple conversation about killing the mayor with no ulterior motives. He was talking to her because he enjoyed her company, and she was smiling and seemed to be having a good time herself. It was _nice_.

"In that case I should take up a collection, maybe make enough from the proceeds to move."

"You're moving?" Somehow he hadn't known this, and he was a man who prided himself on his information gathering skills.

"Soon," she shrugged. "My living situation is a bit...dicey."

"How so?"

"I live with my ex," she said flatly, going around his desk to retrieve a bag he assumed contained her actual work clothes in it. "It's not a good place for me."

"And so all this..." he gestured vaguely towards her, hoping to indicate her work.

"_All this_ is to get me my own place," she replied. Her face had softened quite a bit and taken on a dreamy quality as though the sort of apartment a maid could afford would be a palace rather than a rat trap in one of his worse buildings. Although perhaps compared to living with whomever she had seen fit to end things with, a rat trap would be a step up.

"Well, if you need any help finding a place, I know of quite a few." He hated to bring commerce into this but he did know of places that should be within her price range. He knew what he was paying for cleaning, and he knew where her coworkers lived. He could extrapolate.

"No thanks," she replied. "It's nice of you to offer, but since we're friends and all now, I'd hate to have to owe you money."

He could respect that. He actually respected it quite a lot. Lacey, it seemed, was not at all like people said.

"Well, I wish you luck then," he said. "But perhaps you should change before someone looks in the window and assumes I hired a prostitute."

He winced a little at the words as they left his mouth. He didn't know why he did that, he didn't know why he kept insulting her when all he really wanted to do was keep talking to the one person who didn't shrink away from him when he lashed out. But she didn't lash out this time, even though he half expected her to grab a paperweight off the desk and wing it at his head. Honestly, he wouldn't have blamed her if she had.

Instead, Lacey looked at him quizzically, as though she could see right through him and knew he was all bluster here.

"I think," she finally said, "that if I were to take up hooking I could do a lot better for client selection."

She then breezed past him and into the hallway. He heard the door to the bathroom shut behind her as she went to change into her uniform.

Gold quickly moved to his desk and practically collapsed into the chair, lowering his head until it touched the cool wood of his desk as he pondered all the ways he was truly terrible at interacting with other people.

By the time she emerged from his bathroom with her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail and her fetish costume replaced with a proper uniform, he had begun pulling out paperwork and contracts to look over. This time, he managed to remain focused on his work even as she moved around the room straightening before she moved on.

When she sought him out to tell him she was done for the day and going home, he was still seated at his desk. He walked her out again, as though she were a guest and he was polite. He might be unable to refrain from implying she was a whore for an entire conversation, but damned if he wouldn't walk her to the door like a gentleman.

"You do a good job," he said at the threshold, removing another $20 and holding it out to her.

He wasn't entirely sure she'd take it after what he'd said last time, but she seemed to be made of sterner stuff than he was or else the situation at her home was worse than she was letting on because she accepted the money with her head held high.

"Any last parting words?" she said with a smile, and he knew then that it cost her to need his money and accept his insults even if she could give back as good as she got.

He wanted to apologize, but she wasn't the type to admit he had the power to wound her. He liked that about her.

"None at all, dearie," he winked at her. "How about you?"

She gave him that same appraising glance again that she had given him upstairs after he made the crack about her looking like a prostitute. The one that made him feel completely transparent.

"Not this time," she finally said. "Try me next week and we'll see."

"Next week, then."

He shut the door after she left and made it halfway back to his office before he realized he'd just made plans to leave the shop early again just to see Lacey French.

He was not sure what to make of this new turn of events.


	6. Baby I'm Yours

A/N: The song Gold and Lacey dance to in this chapter is "Baby I'm Yours" by Barbara Lewis.

Please see the end notes for an important note about the characters!

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest, one year pre-curse_

Belle had done a fairly good job up until now of feigning indifference towards every suitor who presented himself to save the cursed lady of Avonlea. After hearing Regina's words, she knew her one chance was to maintain a perfectly detached politeness. Many, many, _many_ knights and would-be heroes had come along, and each had been met with Belle's carefully polished company manners and complete indifference.

Philip and Mulan hadn't been kept captive, at least. Once it was determined that Philip was a prince of a neighboring kingdom, he had been allowed to take Mulan and depart under strict orders to never, ever return. Belle had initially hoped that one of them might be able to summon Rumpelstiltskin and tell him of her plight, but every day that he didn't come for her Belle came a little closer to accepting that he would not. Whether they hadn't tried to summon him or he had decided not to help, she couldn't be sure.

No, Belle was going to have to figure out how to get out of this one all on her own. If only she could figure out how. She was kept under observation all day and locked into her room at night. Her room was midway up a very tall tower – too far to climb down, but also too low for her to get onto the roof. There were guards stationed outside her door all night and maids who sat inside with her ready to call for help at the first sign of trouble.

She knew there had to be a way out. No prison was perfect, after all, and she was still just a prisoner (albeit a very well-kept one). By six months into her captivity, however, Belle was still certain there was an escape, she was just beginning to despair of ever out what that escape might _be._

Every day, new 'heroes' rode into Avonlea hoping that they would be the one that she couldn't stand the sight of. Every single one came up disappointed. Her father seemed to be on the verge of losing hope, as well. Perhaps he could come to see reason, she thought, if only she could hold out just a little longer. Surely sooner or later he had to come around.

Belle was thinking these thoughts and taking a stroll through the garden looking (yet again) for weak spots in the perimeter as two guards trailed behind her just a hair too close to be considered an honor guard when another guard approached her.

"My lady," he said, dropping into a courteous bow and waiting for her acknowledgment before rising. "Your father requests your presence in the throne room."

She nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. Her presence meant only one thing – it was time for the daily round of suitors for her to somehow discourage. When she arrived, however, she was shocked to find only two strangers attending her father.

Both men were tall. One was fair and light-headed with forest green eyes. He was handsome enough, but he merely resembled most of the other handsome men of her acquaintance. There was nothing particularly to recommend his appearance. His companion had his back to her, but she could see dark wavy hair and a hint of a beard. Sighing, she braced herself and attended to her father's side, prepared to quietly ignore these two strangers.

When she saw the face of the darker one, however, she very nearly fainted. It was the sheriff who had tried to barter with Rumple for a night with her. Disgust roiled in her belly, and she eyed him warily.

"Sir Maurice," the fair man said. "Your daughter is far lovelier than either you or my companion could have done justice."

"M'lady," the sheriff crooned, bowing to her. "I'm happy to see you've survived your encounter with the Dark One none the worse for wear. When I saw you in the forest and was unable to free you, I was without sleep for days from the guilt."

It was all Belle could do to contain her revulsion. She just wanted to run from the room, but any strong emotion and she'd find herself married to this drunken lecher before she could blink. She didn't have any idea who the blond man was, but if he was in the company of the Sheriff then she couldn't trust him, either.

"I must admit," her father said. "When I heard the queen was sending two suitors for my daughter I wasn't sure what to think, but knowing you saw her when she was captive and that Sir Guy is one of the queen's most trusted lieutenants has really put my mind at ease."

"Thank you, Sir Maurice," the man now identified as Sir Guy said jovially. "And thank you for your hospitality, as well. I do look forward to getting to know your lovely daughter while we're here."

Belle knew then that these two would not be put off so easily as the others.

_Storybrooke, 1989_

Lacey couldn't remember exactly when she'd begun working for Mr. Gold. It couldn't have been too long ago, because she still hadn't been able to afford to move yet. Sometimes it felt like years, though. They had developed a certain sort of friendship between them and she very rarely had to threaten to throw things at him anymore. He still came up with the occasional insult, but it wasn't anything she hadn't ever heard before and he never minded particularly when she shot her own barbs back. It hadn't taken her too long to realize he liked it when she called him a prick or a bastard or a mother fucker or even a dirty old pervert. Some men were into that kind of thing, and he was so uptight in public it wasn't exactly surprising that he might enjoy her scorn in private.

She never dared do it in public, though, never dared to betray this secret between them. In return, he never spoke a word against her within earshot of anyone else. She was also the only person who ever greeted him (except for the mayor, who always wanted something) and was also one of a very few people who didn't scurry across the street to avoid him when she saw him coming. Lacey would brush past him with her head held high and always received a nod in greeting. If the townspeople saw anything odd about the town whore Lacey French being so friendly with local monster Mr. Gold, they were all smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves for fear of what he would do if word got back to him.

She kind of liked that about him, though. Liked that he could shut down the gossip that usually followed her around like flies. No matter what else she was (the example given to daughters about why it was really important to stay in school and keep your knees closed was her personal favorite), no one ever dared connect her to Mr. Gold.

She had her other clients, too. The mayor still creeped her out with her staring, and Lacey had begun to dread days when she knew Regina would be home. Her other client was a man named Jefferson. She wasn't entirely sure if that was a first name or a last name, and he didn't answer when she asked. He was one of those wealthy eccentrics who dressed flamboyantly and sat at home all day with nothing but his money to keep him company. He was pretty cute, though, if you liked them slightly unhinged.

Lacey had tried her luck at seducing Jefferson, but failed miserably and had eventually given up when it became apparent that no matter what else he might be, he was entirely too focused on someone named "Grace" for it to be healthy, and Lacey often caught him muttering to himself about her. He had a strange habit, too, of looking at Lacey sometimes as though seeing her for the first time and then breaking out in uproarious laughter. After he started doing that, she had begun to be wary around him much the same way as she was around the mayor.

Nobody would believe her if she were to tell them that the Tuesday afternoons spent with Mr. Gold were the high point of her week, so she never tried to explain it, not even to Ruby, who occasionally did ask her about her strange relationship with the pawnbroker/landlord/local terror. It wasn't something she could really put into words, and trying to do so would have ruined it anyway.

_Storybrooke, 1997_

"What are you doing?" Gold said, walking into his office where Lacey was working.

"Oh, sorry," she said with a bashful smile. "I forgot my music at home and you never use this record player anyway so I thought I'd give it a try. You're not mad, are you?"

"No, not at all," he forced out. She'd somehow found a record of old love songs he didn't even know he _had_ (which he would promptly be destroying as soon as she left, he was sure) and when he'd walked in she was swaying back and forth.

Something about the way Lacey had been swishing idly as she dusted had given him the oddest sense of deja vu, and he just couldn't shake the strange sense of melancholy that burst in his chest.

"That's good," Lacey said sweetly, returning to her cleaning. "I swear, the music helps me work better."

Somehow she'd begun to be _cheerful_ around him sometimes, which was pleasant but a little terrifying. Nobody was ever happy to see him except for her.

"Yes, well as long as you don't forget to dust the books again this week you can listen to whatever you want," he grumbled, making his way to his desk like he did every Tuesday. It never occurred to him to wonder why she was always in the office when he got home, she just _was_.

"If you'd ever touch these books I wouldn't have to dust them so much," she shot back. "Maybe you should get rid of them if you never use them."

"Maybe you should just dust them like I pay you for."

She glared at him, but the song changed again and she went back to her quiet dancing.

Lacey was properly dancing, he realized. What he'd initially thought were random movements were actually a waltz she was modifying to keep her in the same spot long enough to clean. She was simply full of surprises.

"Do you dance, dearie?" he broke in when his curiosity finally overcame him.

"What?" she replied, looking up at him in shock. "Oh, yes. Well, sort of."

"And how, pray tell, do you 'sort of' dance?"

"I taught myself as a little girl," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "I watched a lot of old movies and I guess I assumed that being an adult would require a lot more dancing than it actually does. I always really liked it, though. It's silly."

"No, it's not silly at all," he corrected. "We all have our strange hobbies, after all. How often do you get to dance?"

"Never, actually," she said with a laugh. "I mean, I go out dancing it's but it's not _this_ kind of dancing. It's all bumping into a guy's crotch and drinking."

"You've _never_ danced properly?"

She shook her head before returning to her dusting.

He wasn't sure why the idea bothered him so much, but suddenly the idea of Lacey having this skill she kept hidden was intolerable. She hid so much else about herself from everyone, this one last thing was the last straw.

He was up from the desk and tapping her on the shoulder before he could think through how bad an idea it really was.

"Come on," he said gruffly, offering her his hand.

"What the hell, Gold?"

"Do you want to dance or don't you?"

"I'm...still working." She sounded more unsure than he'd ever known her to, and he couldn't help the smile that came up at the idea of Lacey French being shocked into shyness by an offer to dance.

"I'm the one _paying_ you," he pointed out. "You can dance if I say you can."

The song switched over and she gave him one of her long looks, sizing up his intent before finally nodding and letting him pull her into his arms.

It was a little uncomfortable how neatly she fit against him, and how warm she was where his hand touched her waist.

_Baby, I'm yours..._

"You're supposed to let me lead," he teased her as they bumped together due to her stepping out of time.

_And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky._

"Well I told you I'd never done this before!"

_Yours until the rivers all run dry_

_ In other words until I die_

"Just do what I do."

_Baby I'm yours._

"I _am _doing what you do!"

_And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines_

"Look, I'm going to guide you with my hand on your waist, just pay attention to that."

She scowled at him, but nodded in agreement and he could feel all her attention focusing on him.

_Yours until the poets run out of rhymes_

He always felt so exposed by her, like she saw right through him. What had he been thinking by offering this?

_In other words until the end of time_

It didn't take long for them to settle into an easy rhythm. She really was a talented dancer, and he wondered briefly what her life would have been like with a little more money in it. Would she have taken lessons and gone to college? Be married by now to some doctor or lawyer and have a handful of children underfoot? Lacey had more potential than anyone else in town had ever realized. Who's to say she wouldn't have ended up being the lawyer in the family? He could see her arguing anyone to a standstill.

She was looking at him still, although this time he didn't feel uncomfortable with it. It didn't feel like she was looking right through him; it felt like she was _seeing_ him instead. The song was ending, but he didn't want to let her go. He just wanted to be near her for just a little bit longer, because he felt like he was on the edge of something important. There was something just below the surface of this that he needed to remember and he couldn't. She'd never been this close, so how did he know the way her lips would part when she looked at him like this?

The final notes played, and a faster song picked up and the moment was over, and Lacey was stepping away.

"That was fun, Mr. Gold," she said with a cavalier smirk. "Thank you."

"The pleasure was all mine, dearie," he tried to be as teasing as he could because the alternative was to let her know how affected he'd been by her closeness, and that prospect was just too intolerable to contemplate.

* * *

A/N: Just to make sure we're all on the same page, Brad is the cursed persona of Guy of Gisbourne. He's a character from the Robin Hood stories and is often conflated with the Sheriff of Nottingham, but I needed him separate for this.

Gaston's equivalent would be Lacey's ex George who blew out his knee playing college football.


	7. Distressed Damsels

_The Enchanted Forest, one and a half years pre-curse_

"We shouldn't be doing this," the foreign woman was saying to her companion. "It's folly to meddle in the affairs of sorcerers."

Well, Rumpelstiltskin had to admire her wisdom if not her choice of company. She seemed to have some sense, at least.

"You can't just let true love be wasted like that," the man exclaimed. His voice was too emotional; this was striking too close to home for him. Good, it meant he'd be more likely to accept poor terms in whatever deal he wanted.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" the man called out again.

Time to make an entrance.

"There's no need to yell," he said with a maniacal giggle as he appeared directly behind the woman who hadn't wanted to summon him.

She jumped, and her instincts had her spinning around and holding a sword pointing warily at him almost instantly. What a pity, he loved when they panicked.

"You..." she said cautiously, backing slowly away. "You're the Dark One, aren't you?"

"Rumpelstiltskin," he rolled the _R_ theatrically, making a deep bow. "At your service."

"You're the one Belle told us about," she said.

"Mulan," the man hissed at her.

At the mention of his wayward former maid Rumpelstiltskin stiffened, feeling his good mood evaporate.

"Ah," he said, his tone clipped enough that the man who had called was now looking increasingly more pale. "So you've met my former maid. Now, who are you?"

The two exchanged looks that seemed to be saying _you got us into this __now you deal with it_, before the man eventually capitulated.

"I am Prince Philip of the Southlands," he said with a courtly bow. "And this is my companion, Mulan. We seek your aid in freeing my true love from a curse."

"And who might your true love be, dearie?" Rumpelstiltskin practically purred.

"The Princess Aurora," Philip said softly.

"Ah, Maleficent's princess." Well, he generally didn't like to get involved in the affairs of other sorcerers, but Rumpelstiltskin had no particular love for Maleficent right now. "And what do you have to offer in exchange for this help?"

Philip and Mulan shot each other glances again and he had to suppress a smile. This was clearly not a team that trusted each other. An opportunistic villain could exploit that weakness, were he so inclined.

"We know the location your true love is kept," Philip said, sounding less confident the longer this game continued.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't contain the bitter laugh that burst forth.

"My true love? And who might that be?"

"The...the lady Belle," Philip replied.

"Ah yes, the lady Belle," he spat the last word out. "Only two problems with this plan, dearie: one, she's not my true love; and two, I happen to know exactly where she is."

"You...you do?" Philip stammered.

"Well then why haven't you rescued her?" Mulan exclaimed, angry for the first time in this discussion.

"Rescue her?" he placed a hand over his heart, hoping the theatrics would cover that he was still hurting. "Whatever from?"

"From the queen, from her father and the men being forced upon her!"

"I don't have time for this," he growled. "If you have nothing of value to add then don't waste my time."

"You'd really leave her there?" Mulan shouted. "She didn't betray you, she was tricked!"

"So you say." He tried to sound nonchalant but she was beginning to raise his ire. "Point of interest, dearie, if you ever want to make a deal with me make sure you have something worth dealing for first."

With a snap of his fingers he was back in the hall of the Dark Castle, Mulan's voice echoing after him, the word _coward_ reverberating through the hall. Or maybe it was just in his imagination.

He should have turned her into something squishy that made a satisfying sound when stepped on.

_Storybrooke, May of 2001_

"I need a child, Gold," Regina said sharply as she stormed into his shop. "And I need your help."

This woman was going to be the death of him.

"Well," he said with a smirk. "I'm flattered, but uninterested."

That got him the intended reaction. She made a face and paused in her tirade.

"Not like that," she exclaimed, affronted. Good, he liked her on the defensive. "I spent all morning talking to adoption agencies," she continued. "The wait lists are over two years long. But you, Gold...you know how to cut through red tape. And if anyone can work the system and find me a baby, it's you."

Well, wasn't _that_ an interesting development? The queen in her castle suddenly needing his help. He wasn't generally inclined towards helping Regina, but this...this could be used to his advantage.

"You wish to adopt?"

"Well, don't act so surprised!" She sounded affronted, and he barely contained the urge to smile.

"Oh, I'm not," he replied. "I'm sure you'll make a...well, a mother of some sort."

"Can you help me?"

"Oh of course I can," he assured her. Oh it was delightful to let her squirm like this. "But a word of caution. Ask yourself: is this something you're ready for?"

"It's something I _need_."

"Well, that may not be the same thing," he retorted. "I'll get you a child. But whether or not that's helping you remains to be seen." He paused for a moment, unsure why he cared so much about this but suddenly unable to contain this last piece of advice. "When you become a parent you must put your child first no matter what."

Regina seemed to accept that, retreating from his shop with no further words. He'd not spoken of what this would cost her; he'd not needed to. She'd pay him back for it later in one way or another.

Gold worked later than he meant to. He'd made a few phone calls, which had turned into a few more phone calls, which had turned into a lead on a child in Arizona, which was a few hours behind Maine time.

Otherwise, he'd never have been out in his car driving past The Rabbit Hole at nine at night, and he'd never have seen Lacey French tottering in her giant heels and wearing what could generously be called a dress (and what would more accurately be described as fancy underwear worn underneath a sheer lace minidress) as a man he didn't know stormed after her. He was pulling the car over before he even registered he was doing it, stepping out onto the street in time for her to spin around on the man following her and begin screaming at him.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Brad," she shrieked. Ah, so this was the infamous Brad.

"Dammit, Lacey, you shouldn't be out looking like that." He grabbed her arm and she nearly tripped in her haste to yank it away from him. "You're my fucking fiancee and you look like a whore."

"I'm not your fiancee, jackass," she yelled back. "Get that through your skull, okay?"

"You're mine as long as you're living on my couch," the rather large buffoon insisted, lunging at Lacey again.

Lacey stumbled backwards, tumbling into Gold, who had come up behind her unnoticed. She jerked back as soon as she felt him, spinning around to determine if he was a threat. By now a small crowd had formed, and in it Gold recognized Lacey's friend Ruby and a few other faces.

"Lacey," he said curtly, glancing between her and Brad. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm fine."

"It's none of your business," Brad growled. "Come on, Lacey, let's finish this at home."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Lacey replied, maintaining a solid distance between herself and the man who kept trying to approach her. "Not until you sober up."

"Don't be a bitch, Lacey," Brad reached for her again. "We're going home."

"No!" Lacey yelled, jumping away as he dove for her. She was surprisingly agile for someone wearing a tight skirt and heels and who had clearly also been drinking.

"I believe the lady wants to stay," Gold said firmly, holding his cane by the shaft menacingly.

Brad growled, glancing back and forth between Gold and Lacey as though sizing up whether he thought the older man would really take a swing at him. Luckily for him, at that moment one of the assembled crowd jumped out and grabbed Brad by the shoulders.

"Come on, dude," the other man said. "She's not worth it."

This newcomer seemed wary of Gold, which spoke well of his intelligence at least.

"Listen to your friend, dearie," Gold muttered menacingly. "Go home and sleep it off."

Brad glared at Lacey, who was now standing a half-step behind Gold and watching the proceedings warily.

"Whatever," Brad tossed back at her as he began to make his retreat. "Enjoy your whoring around with the old guy."

"Oh you son of a bitch..." Lacey hissed, Gold's only warning before she lunged for Brad. Fortunately, as she was slightly inebriated and not dressed for combat he had enough time to slip an arm around her waist and hold her back before she actually managed to land on Brad. She was surprisingly strong for her size, but he was still able to restrain her – even with his bad leg.

"Come back and say that to my face, you motherfucker!" Lacey yelled, continuing to try to extricate herself from Gold's grasp.

"Give me a call if you miss being with a real man!" Brad shot back over his shoulder as he retreated into the bar with his friend. The mob dispersed not long after, only Ruby Lucas sparing a wary glance towards the pair before being pulled inside by someone else Gold didn't recognize.

Lacey didn't stop struggling for another few minutes, the fight finally leaving her limp against him before she sighed and forced herself upright again. He saw the moment she regained herself, could feel the change in her entire bearing as she managed to replace the mask she always wore.

"I guess I'm going to see if I can sleep over at Ruby's tonight," she muttered more to herself than to him, pulling away. "I should probably thank you for coming to my rescue, at least."

She gave him a sad smile, and he let himself make a stupid decision.

"Come on," he said, gesturing towards his car. "You can stay in one of my guest rooms tonight."

"No thanks," she said. "No offense, Mr. Gold, but in my experience when a guy offers you a place to sleep it comes with a few more stipulations than that. I'd rather sleep on a park bench."

"Frankly, I'd fear for the safety of the hobos," he said with a chuckle. "No funny business, dearie. I just don't think you should go home tonight."

She wavered, then, obviously agreeing with his assessment but unsure of how to accept his hospitality.

"Fine," she conceded. "One night. I'd have to go back inside to look for Ruby anyway."

She was silent for most of the drive back to his house, for which he was grateful. He didn't know how he felt about his recent turn as damsel rescuing hero, didn't know what had possessed him to stop for her in the first place.

"He's not always like that, you know," she said finally, gazing out the window. "Just when he drinks."

"And how often does he drink?"

"Often enough," she admitted. "That's why I've been trying to save up to move."

"I could help you find a place..."

"No," she interrupted. "I don't want to owe you anything."

He grimaced, but didn't push the issue as they pulled up outside his house. Lacey was out the door and in the driveway before he had his seat belt off, but she said nothing, simply waiting for him. She trailed him quietly as he made his way to the front door, letting them both in.

"You can stay in the blue guest room," he told her, making no move to block her from the door and allowing her the chance to change her mind and run out.

"Alright," she said with a sigh.

"I'll bring you something to change into," he added, realizing for the first time how uncomfortable her dress must be.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I'll be fine."

He hated this side of her. Lacey was the sort of woman who was never passive, always actively invested in moving her life. To see her completely resigned and hopeless was almost too much. He wanted to push her, to rile her up and make her fight back but he didn't think she could take more abuse tonight. Somehow, this had come close to breaking her.

Before he realized what he was doing, his hand snaked out to rest on her wrist, stopping her on the stairs but not restraining her.

"I'll bring you something to change into," he repeated firmly.

She looked at him before nodding and continuing up the stairs, her expression completely passive. He was murderously angry at this Brad person for making Lacey into this – even temporarily.

By the time he found a t-shirt and a pair of clean boxers for her to sleep in and had returned to the room he'd put her in, Lacey had kicked her shoes off and was staring into the mirror of the vanity, her hair falling softly around her shoulders as she pulled pins out of it.

"I brought you some things..." But it didn't feel like enough. Never enough.

"Thanks," she said, taking the clothes from him and tossing them onto the bed. "I mean it, too. Thanks for everything."

"You're welcome," he replied, turning to leave.

"Mr. Gold?" she blurted out his name as though she were forcing it out before she could back down.

"Yes?"

He turned to face her, and her lips crashed into his. She wasn't gentle, but then he couldn't imagine why he would have expected her to be. Lacey never did anything by half measures, and kissing him was no exception. Her arms didn't twine lovingly around his neck, instead demanding hands pressed against his chest and held onto his lapels to keep him close, as though he had the inclination – or even the ability – to pull away from her. Funny, he hadn't even realized he wanted her until that moment. Groaning low in his throat, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her flush against him. She relaxed into his embrace, then, as though she'd been worried he really might push her away until he pulled her closer.

She tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and he remembered that he'd rescued her from the front of a bar and an abusive ex not twenty minutes previously. This was probably taking advantage of her distraught state, and he should probably stop this, push her away and insist she was confused and drunk and couldn't possibly want him of all people. But Gold knew Lacey. She wasn't that drunk and she never did anything unless she really meant it. Regardless of what else had happened, Lacey wanted to be kissing him right now, and he knew she'd only be angry if he tried to stop her.

She bit his lip when he pulled away from her at last, trying to determine how far she meant to take this. The look in her eyes was glassy with desire but there was something else there as well, and he recognized the same desperation that echoed within him. Gold couldn't remember the last time someone besides her had touched him willingly, touched him as though they wanted to. He lived a solitary life, and until now it had never occurred to him to want anything else, but when Lacey touched him he _wanted._ She didn't seem to want to stop any more than he wanted her to. He knew that look in her face, she wanted him – or at least wanted some connection to someone else the same way he did.

If he was using her, she was using him as well. Lacey was as close to begging him for comfort as she ever got to begging anyone for anything, and he had no inclination to deny her this one thing.

He slid one hand up to comb through her hair, pulling her back into another kiss and he felt her smile wickedly against his mouth. Her hands finally relaxed on his chest and began to tease the buttons of his shirt open one at a time.

"Do you have any condoms?" she whispered into his ear, and he cursed himself for never thinking of this – but honestly, how could he have? In what reality was it a reasonable assumption that this would ever have happened?

"No," he admitted, and it felt like the biggest loss of his life to stop this now.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, shaking her head. "There's one in my purse."

"Then why did you ask me?" he couldn't help but ask, even as relief flooded through him.

"Some guys are funny about me carrying one," she said with a shrug, going back to toying with the buttons of his shirt.

"Those guys are idiots," he growled, fisting her hair and pulling her back into a hard kiss. He didn't want to think about what _other guys_ might entail, because right now he didn't want to think of anything besides Lacey French in her nearly non-existent dress in his guest bedroom wanting _him_ of all people. Whatever else happened tonight, Gold knew his life wouldn't be the same tomorrow.


	8. One Night Stand

Thanks for all the reviews and follows on this story! Fair warning, this is where I earn my rating. I hadn't planned on including this scene, but something plot relevant happens that will be explained in detail at the end.

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest, eleven months pre-curse_

The Sheriff of Nottingham and Sir Guy had stayed for three weeks now, and Belle hoped everyday that they would be leaving soon. She couldn't imagine why having men lurk around her would be so high on Queen Regina's priority list, but apparently Belle was more important than she would have expected – or, more likely, Regina wanted to keep her close in case she needed a trump card to use against Rumpelstiltskin at a later date. Either way, Belle wasn't sure how much longer she could contain her outrage at being captive or her displeasure with the two men.

On their arrival, she'd preferred Sir Guy to Nottingham. After all, Guy had never tried to rape her. As time went on, though, she recognized in him a quieter and more dangerous sort of ugliness. While Nottingham postured and preened and made crude comments when he knew no one else could hear (and frankly, drank far too much ale), Sir Guy kept a cooler head in most instances. He rarely spoke to Belle, and when he did it was with the utmost politeness. She sensed something darker and far more terrifying there, though, lurking just beneath the surface. She knew intuitively not to cross him. Nottingham would lash out at the smallest of provocations, but his tempers ran fast and rarely ended with more than harsh words. If Sir Guy ever became enraged, Belle thought he would be deadly.

She had given up hope of being rescued not long after the strangers arrived. Surely, if Rumple was coming he would have done so. Belle's one hope now was that she could outlast Regina's machinations or else that her captors would eventually let their collective guard down and she could make her escape. No other options remained to her.

When Sir Guy and Nottingham had begun taking her daily walk with her through the gardens, her last vestige of freedom finally stripped. They were trailed at a respectful distance by an older maid acting as a chaperone, but the woman wasn't ever close enough to hear the things that were said. It didn't matter, though. Her father was so taken with gratitude for Regina for 'rescuing' Belle that she doubted any witnesses to the bad behavior of the queen's favorites would be believed.

She'd taken to largely ignoring them in public, but as long as she retained her composure the distance of the maid during her walks allowed her to express her displeasure with them. It at least kept her sane.

"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked them one day. "Why does Regina want you to torture me like this? I can't possibly be that important, or Rumpelstiltskin would have come for me by now."

Nottingham laughed, giving a possessive look to her body that she hated.

"I can't speak for the Queen, love," he said, his voice slurred from drink. "But she's promised Avonlea to one of us if we keep an eye on you."

"But how can she..." Belle began to ask, before understanding dawned – Belle was her father's only heir. Regina intended to marry her off to one of them; she was to be payment for services rendered.

Nottingham laughed at the flush of rage that she could feel rising in her face, but Sir Guy merely looked her over – not with lust, but with a cold assessing gaze that chilled her blood.

"I wouldn't underestimate your importance," Guy said finally. "The imp doesn't make a habit of befriending pretty lasses, after all. The queen has her reasons for wanting you safe." He made a face as though reconsidering his words before turning on her with a mirthless grin on his face. "Well, for wanting you, anyway. Safe is, I suppose, a relative term."

Belle had to escape in one way or the other. If the alternative was the ownership of Nottingham or the cold cruelty of Sir Guy, she had to find a third choice no matter what that may be.

_Storybrooke, May of 2001_

It was a bad idea to kiss him, and a worse idea to fuck him. This couldn't end any way but badly, but Lacey was feeling stupid and self-destructive and this was definitely both those things. He was somewhere between employer and friend and man who had it in his power to make her life miserable, and here she was, about to crawl into bed with him anyway. She just didn't care anymore what happened, as long as he would let her crawl out of her skin and into his for a little while. She would deal with the fallout in the morning if he decided that he never wanted to see her again, or that his first impressions had been right and she really was a whore. Lacey just knew that she'd never get through the night without Mr. Gold there, too, and this was the best way she knew to ask him to stay.

When she finally unbuttoned his shirt and waistcoat and slid her hands between the fine fabric and his warm skin, something inside him seemed to snap as he discarded the garments on the floor. He guided her back until her legs hit the bed, and rather than letting him push her down as she knew he had meant to, she took a seat in front of him. He stiffened as she made eye contact and unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loops in one quick motion and tossing it to the side. When she moved her hands to the button of his trousers and his zipper, he pushed her back by her shoulders and climbed onto the bed over top of her. She was surrounded by him on all sides – by the warmth of his body and the smell of him and his expensive cologne, and it was the first time she'd felt safe in as long as she could remember.

Gold pressed hot open mouthed kisses down her neck and shoulder, palming her breast in one hand and continuing his attentions to her upper body, the lace of her dress scraping across her skin and keeping her grounded in his arms.

"How the hell do you take this off?" he grumbled into her neck, causing her to shiver.

"There's a zipper in the back," she replied, arching a little to show him.

He let her sit back up, his fingers tracing the length of the zipper from her neck down to the small of her back before he swept her long hair up over her shoulder and dragged the zipper itself down. She had goosebumps rising on her arms as his hand splayed across the now bare flesh between her shoulder blades and caressed her with gentle strokes. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched her so gently, if anyone else ever had.

She got up, then, before he could break her with his kindness, standing in front of him and sliding the dress off her arms. She stepped out of it and back onto the bed, leaning over him this time. Rather than fighting her for dominance, he seemed content to let her lead.

Lacey straddled his hips, the fabric of his pants soft against her inner thighs. She sat back on her heels and watched him as he watched her. She let him look his fill for the first time in their acquaintanceship, and she was surprised at the awe she saw there. She could get used to this, she decided. She could get used to men who saw her as something of value, as something besides an empty vessel waiting to be filled.

Gold's hands were massaging her thighs, and she made a soft moaning noise she knew men liked hearing. He was no exception, sliding his hands through the legs of her panties to cup her ass and squeeze. She dug her nails softly into his chest, not enough to hurt but just enough to leave soft pink marks in his flesh. She liked seeing those there, she decided. She liked marking him and was suddenly curious how far he would allow her to take that inclination. Lacey leaned forward on her forearms and bit his shoulder where it met his neck just enough to make him hiss before dragging her tongue across the mark. It would be covered by his collars and ties, but he'd not forget her too quickly tomorrow, no matter how much he might want to.

"God, Lacey..." he groaned her name as though it hurt him but she knew it didn't. A hurt man wouldn't arch into her like that.

"Yes?" she teased him. "Did you want something?"

There was no answer, just hands that kept moving over her hips and ass and thighs in faster movements. She reached behind herself and removed her bra, dangling it playfully over his face before discarding it as she had his belt.

Mr. Gold was a powerful man, there was no denying that. And yet here he was, pinned under Lacey and desperate with wanting her. It was intoxicating to have that much power over a man, over _this_ man in particular. He was a man who used words to destroy, and yet he was rendered speechless by Lacey French, who got straight Cs in high school and could barely hold down a job, touching him.

Lacey moved down his body again, jerking his trousers and boxers down and he lifted his hips to help her as she worked them down his knees. Once she got them most of the way down, and he finally sat up to help her get them past his ankles and feet. She pretended she didn't notice the odd scarring on his right ankle, she knew instinctively that bringing any attention to it at all would bring an end to this – and whatever else happened, she definitely didn't want it to end. Instead, she focused on his cock which was at full attention and twitching sporadically under her gaze. It wasn't the biggest she'd ever seen, but it was definitely on the larger size of average. That was fine by Lacey. She'd had one or two experiences with being poked in the cervix by a lover with more length than skill and wasn't overly interested in repeating that experience.

She reached out and wrapped her hand around him, pumping just enough to let him know she approved. He seemed to relax at that, pulling her into another kiss – this one harder than the last, his tongue thrusting into her mouth and teasing her lips with his teeth. She liked him without reservations, she decided. He was different, but not so much so as to be frightening.

"You're killing me, Lacey," he whispered, and she had to fight to contain the shudder his words elicited. "Where the hell is your purse?"

"Hold on." She climbed off the bed, ignoring his groan of protest and the way his hands stayed on her until she was out of reach, and went to the vanity where she'd set her handbag. She popped it open, producing the promised condom to what seemed to be his intense relief.

She stripped off her panties before returning to the bed, and he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her again as though she'd been gone for years rather than seconds. She really could get used to this, to the way he stroked her hips or brushed his fingers through her hair. She could get used to the way his hand felt cupped around her breasts and his lips felt at the nape of her neck. She could get used to having him in her bed. But that was too big a thought for the moment, and she pushed it aside. It was stupid to get midway through a one night stand and start making plans for the future. Those came later, if they came at all. Once you had a better idea of where you stood.

She returned to her position above him, unwrapping the condom and rolling it down his length with practiced fingers. Before she could position herself over him again, though, he sat up and cupped her cunt with his hand, fingers pushing into her and testing her wetness as his palm pressed into her clit. He seemed to approve of how he found her, if the involuntary shiver and the way he pressed his forehead to her collarbone was any indication. She was more than happy to oblige him in any exploration he wanted, arching her back and moaning as he worked fingers in and out of her deftly. When she was near begging him to fuck her, he finally moved his hands back to her hips and guided her over him. She was glad for it, as much as she enjoyed him touching her (and she did enjoy it) she was desperate for this connection more than she was for physical release. A part of her almost felt like losing control would spoil it, wanting to maintain the power over him for as long as it possible lasted.

She was aching for him inside of her by the time she finally perched over him, letting him line himself up with her before she plunged down and took him inside in one stroke. She'd not been prepared for the quick flash of pain as she did so, biting her lip and whimpering softly.

"Are you alright?" He sounded confused, and maybe a little scared. Not that she could say she blamed him, though.

"Yeah," she said as soon as the pain dulled to a mild discomfort. "Sorry, it's just been a long time I guess."

He looked dubious, but didn't question her as she began to move over him, pleasure replacing the ache she'd felt. It wasn't really that bad, a pinch and maybe a bit of a stretching sensation – it had startled her more than anything else – and it was quickly relieved by the pressure building within her as she rode him.

She'd expected him to be the sort to lay there and let her do all the work, but instead he was sitting upright underneath her. Gold's hands were on her hips, helping to guide her rhythm, and his mouth was everywhere all at once. He seemed to have a great affinity for her breasts, suckling her nipples in turns before moving to place kisses and bites all across her chest and neck and then returning to her nipples again. His hand came between them, teasing her clit again as she continued to move on top of him.

All of a sudden, his movements became more erratic and he began thrusting up beneath her at odd intervals. His head tossed back as he groaned her name, fingers digging into her hips and sides as his orgasm claimed him.

She had loved watching him climax, digging her nails into his back hard enough to leave marks the next morning. She hoped he'd feel them later at least and think of her.

Lacey had expected their encounter to end here, with him satisfied and her feeling a little less lonely, but she was surprised when, instead of immediately rolling over and discarding her, he instead pulled her down over top of him and rolled her onto her side so he could spoon her from behind. His hand reached back between her legs and went back to his earlier attentions there. It wasn't long before she was panting and twitching against him, crying out as little light bursts erupted behind her eyes and her orgasm ripped through her.

She was left bereft in the wake of her climax, as though the tension were the last thing holding her together, and she fought hard to hold back the tears that threatened to come at last. She wasn't sure if she would be crying from fear for her future, or relief at having found a safe haven for the night at least, or just from sheer exhaustion. Either way, she brutally resisted the urge, instead pressing back further into him as he pulled the comforter out from under them and wrapped it around her body.

Gold stayed with her the entire night, his face buried in the crook of her neck and his arms pressed tightly against her torso, as though he were as lonely for her as she was for him.

* * *

Alright, so Belle's body just lost its virginity. Lacey's sex memories were curse implanted, and Belle isn't raped in the Enchanted Forest. I wanted to make that crystal clear - _Belle is not raped_


	9. The Morning After

_The Enchanted Forest, fifteen months pre-curse_

It was easy to pretend like this was just checking up on her if he didn't really think about it too hard. Rumpelstiltskin could always find something to amuse himself in the Marchlands if he needed, and while he was the area he might as well look in on Belle. He'd done the same for Bae's friend Morraine on a few occasions several hundred years ago; this wasn't too terribly different than that. He needed to double-check the story he'd heard from the prince and the warrior-girl who had summoned him a few months ago, he hadn't believed them at the time but he had found he couldn't dismiss their words out of hand either.

Anyway, if Belle was really in trouble there may be a deal to be had, and things had been getting rather dusty around the castle lately. And lonely.

The truth of the matter was that he missed her. He still had a little flinch of pain every time he came home and she wasn't there (as a result, he'd taken to spending more and more time away). He couldn't dare to hope that Regina had lied (hope was far too risky in this situation), but this wasn't hope, it was merely curiosity. He could come to check in on her at least, to see her one last time. Maybe that would be enough to finally exorcise her from his heart, though he didn't dare hope for that, either.

He had used the glamor spell to get into the city of Avonlea. He rarely used it on himself, but he didn't want to risk being spotted. The worst thing in the world would be Belle knowing he missed her if she didn't miss him. To anyone else, he would simply look like a peasant – the spinner walked again.

The first thing he noticed on entering the walls of the city was that the castle keep was warded against him being summoned. That was interesting, but not necessarily suspicious. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they would fear his return. Still, he made a game of tearing a few down on principle. Their defenses were mostly intact, but there would be holes if anyone cared to look for them.

Even with the glamor, he had no real business that would get him in through the front gate, and a peasant wandering the grounds would be destined for the stocks – if he were lucky. Instead, Rumpelstiltskin made a tour of the perimeter just to be sure that there were no other surprises before magicking himself inside the courtyard. He cast another simple spell to ensure that he would remain unnoticed. He wasn't invisible exactly, but anyone who wasn't looking specifically for him wouldn't be able to find him – very helpful when it came to it, really. Now he just had to see where Belle was, reassure himself that she had truly left him, and he could return to his life safe in the knowledge that he had been right all along.

He didn't need to look too far. From the copse of trees he was lurking under, he could see her walking on the other side of the courtyard accompanied by two men. He couldn't quite make out their faces or what they were saying from where he was, but the two men seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Belle was more sedate, but didn't seem distressed in any way by their presence.

His fingers itched with her nearness. He could spirit her away, reclaiming his prize, and no one could (or would dare to) take her back. It wouldn't be the same, though. They had passed the point of going back to what they were. If he was going to keep Belle, to rip her away from yet another fiance, he needed to have more to offer her than dusting his trinkets and preparing his tea. And he simply did not have that to give.

The little group was turning now, approaching his hiding place. He physically recoiled from them. They'd never see him, and on the off-chance they did they'd never recognize him, but if Belle got too close he wasn't sure he'd be able to resist reaching out to her one last time. One last time would never really be enough, he knew that now. It was best to make a clean break.

A snap of his fingers put him back outside the wall – and another sent him home to his castle, his made-up errand forgotten. Safe inside his own lair, the Dark One might be able to have a screaming tantrum about the unfairness of life and, more specifically, the fickleness of women.

_Storybrooke, May of 2001_

It was his cell phone that ultimately woke him. Gold was dimly aware of the incessant ringing coming from someplace, and his bed felt wrong somehow, but there was something soft and warm there with him and he was sure he must be dreaming – so instead of forcing himself to consciousness, he snuggled deeper into the blankets and tried to regain sleep. Whatever it was, it was a good dream.

The cell phone persisted, though, and he gradually became aware that the soft, warm thing in his arms was a person. More specifically, it was Lacey French. The events of the previous evening slowly filtered into his consciousness and he still wasn't sure he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. That he would have been her rescuer was unbelievable in and of itself, but her coming back to his home and then _wanting_ him was beyond all comprehension. He felt himself begin to stiffen at the memories of their activities, and he curled closer around her while he could still pretend to be asleep.

"Shouldn't you get that?" she murmured sleepily, stretching out before returning to where she had been tucked against him back to front, her ass pressed against his groin.

God, the call was probably about Regina's baby. He _should_ get it. Reluctantly, he sat up, fishing his phone out of his discarded trousers and answering it.

"Gold," he said, stifling a yawn.

Lacey sat up in bed behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, trailing soft kisses along his shoulders and caressing him with hands that moved progressively lower as he spoke with a woman in Arizona about the baby he'd found. The child was perfect for Regina, an infant whose mother wanted no contact (he somehow didn't think the mayor would care to share), but he was going to have to go into the shop to fax her some paperwork. Ideally, he was going to have to go in now as she couldn't guarantee the baby would still be available come Monday. How disappointing; he'd been hoping to spend the day in bed. He rarely took days off, but this seemed like a special enough occasion to justify it.

He hung the phone up, reluctant to tell Lacey he had to leave her even just for a little while. He had the terrible feeling that once she left his house he'd never see her again.

"I have to go into the shop for a few hours," he said finally. "Mayor Mills asked me to do her a favor, and I need to send off some paperwork to Arizona before lunch."

She gave him another one of those strange, appraising looks as though she were attempting to size up whether he was just trying to avoid her or if he really did have to work. He should kiss her, reassure her that he was only going out because this was so very time sensitive – that he wanted to spend the entire day with her. Her hair was tangled up and her makeup was smudged under her eyes and he'd never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

"Alright," she replied, and he could see the exact moment she transformed from the vulnerable lover to the no-nonsense tough girl. "I should probably go home anyway. Thank you for letting me stay the night, though."

Gold knew a dismissal when he heard one. If he walked out that door without a promise from her of some sort, she'd be gone and if he were lucky she wouldn't get someone to switch clients with her. Either way, they'd gone beyond the point of her being his maid. He was going to have to make a gesture, or it was entirely likely he was never going to have someone be happy to see him again.

"You should stay," he said the words so low that he was afraid she wouldn't hear it. "For the weekend, I mean. I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to go home."

"I don't want to be a problem."

"You're not a problem, you're good company," he insisted. "Anyway, it's not like I had any other plans aside from this Arizona thing. And that shouldn't take more than a couple hours."

She bit her lip, looking away from him as she thought about what he'd said.

"Alright," she replied tentatively. "But I still need to go home and get my clothes."

He reached into his pants and pulled out his wallet, handing her a credit card. She eyed him suspiciously, not making a move to take it.

"Buy whatever you need for the weekend," he said, grabbing her hand and placing the card into it.

"I don't need your money," she bristled a little. "You don't need to buy me."

This was precisely what he'd been afraid of happening, and he wasn't sure he had the necessary social skills to explain it to her.

"I'm not _paying_ you, dearie," he replied, pulling on last night's clothes just to have something to do. "Anyway, we both know you could find much better clients than me if you did take that up."

He said the last with what he hoped was a disarming grin. She screwed her face up at him before visibly deflating a little.

"Look," he said, "if you really want to go home and deal with Brad I can't stop you. But if you'd rather stay here, go buy some jeans and a toothbrush and whatever else you need. Consider it your tip for cleaning this week if that makes you feel better."

"Fine," she grumbled, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn't as upset as she wanted to be.

"Buy a nice dress, too," he added as an afterthought. "We'll go out tonight, if you'd like."

She looked startled, and he was in the process of apologizing for his presumption when she spoke again.

"Mr. Gold, are you asking me on a date?"

"I suppose I am," he admitted finally.

"Okay then," she agreed. "I guess I'll see you when you get home."

Lacey knew it was a bad idea to accept the card from him, but he'd been right. She really _hadn't_ wanted to go home. Brad wouldn't be back at work until Monday and would likely still be passed out in the bedroom. She'd have had to go in there while he was sleeping to get any of her things out. She could surrender a little pride for a few more days of peace.

Him asking her on a date, however, had surprised the hell out of her. She'd had no problem accepting that Gold would want to fuck her. He was a man, and she knew what men thought about girls like her. The idea that he'd even want her to stay a few days wasn't out of the realm of possibility. No one visited him at home, and they'd had a good time, after all. She had no idea what was up with him inviting her _out_ though. He was practically a damn hermit, and people were going to think the worst of the two of them being out together.

Still, though, Lacey had gone out with way worse guys. Maybe Mr. Gold would be a nice change.

She had cleaned herself up as best she could before walking into town, scraping off yesterday's makeup and combing out her wavy hair into something resembling respectability. Still, though, last night's daring see-through dress left her no ability to disguise the walk of shame she was on as she made her way into one of the three clothing stores in Storybrooke.

She didn't spend too much time selecting clothes and undergarments to last her through Monday. She spent a little longer choosing a dress to wear out with him later, and, on a lark, added a silky nightgown to her pile. If he wanted a date, then odds were excellent he would see her in bed again. There was no sense in playing coy at this point.

The clerk rang her up, and she couldn't even bring herself to look at the total before handing over his card. The saleswoman looked her up and down, clearly taking in her relative state of undress and then back to the name on the card.

"I'm sorry, miss," the clerk said. "I'm afraid I can't take this card, you're not on it."

"Look, can't you just call Mr. Gold?" Lacey protested. "He gave it to me to use."

"I'm sure he did," the girl said with a phony smile. "Too bad he's not here."

"He's at the pawn shop," Lacey replied. "Just call him."

The girl still didn't look like she believed her, but Lacey just shrugged. She'd been half prepared for the girl to call the sheriff right off the bat; there was no sense in being offended. The cashier turned around, checking the phone book and then, presumably, calling Mr. Gold. Lacey tried not to stare, instead fidgeting with a display of costume jewelry as the girl explained the situation. She couldn't hear what Gold said, but the cashier began to grow paler and more nervous looking the longer she was on the phone.

"Yes, Mr. Gold," the girl squeaked out. "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

As she placed the phone back in the cradle, the girl was practically shaking.

"I take it everything is in order?" Lacey couldn't resist saying.

"Yes, Miss, everything is in order," the cashier dropped the card twice before finally getting it to scan and getting Lacey's items bagged up.

"Do you mind if I change before leaving?" she asked. She had no particular need to wander the town in this dress.

"Yes, of course, you can use one of the changing rooms."

The cashier was still clearly unnerved by her phone call with Mr. Gold, and the few other customers in the store had begun to look curious as to what was going on. By the time Lacey emerged wearing her flared jeans and a midriff baring shirt, the entire store was looking at her. Lacey was used to being stared at, but this was different. Usually people looked at her with something like scorn or pity – after all, Lacey French was the town bicycle. But now...now they were looking at her with something like fear. They knew who had bought her clothes, and now they knew where she had spent the night. They may not respect her, but they were afraid of what Gold would do if they spoke against her.

Lacey had to rush out into the street. The change in her situation in town was nearly too much to handle right away. She still had a few places to visit, but by the time she got to the drug store to purchase toiletries and a box of condoms, word had spread that Lacey French and Mr. Gold had something going on and Tom Clark merely looked at her curiously as she handed over Gold's credit card to pay for her purchases.

There was something damn intoxicating about not being Racy Lacey anymore, and something fabulously indulgent in the way that a third of the town had begun to cross the street to avoid her. She had no idea if this was a weekend fling or not, but either way she was willing to savor this small amount of power as long as it lasted.


	10. The Girlfriend Experience

Yet another chapter where I'm earning my rating.

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest, three months pre-curse_

The only thing good about having Guy of Gisbourne and the Sheriff of Nottingham sniffing around her for months on end was that they would, at least, acknowledge she wasn't crazy or cursed. Had they, too, kept up the charade that Rumpelstiltskin had cursed her, Belle was sure she would have gone completely insane. At least with them she could be honest in her words if not her actions, and the fact that she was grateful for that unnerved her quite severely.

War was coming to her people again, and this time she was powerless to save them. Avonlea was one of a very few kingdoms still loyal to Regina, and with Princess Snow White (or was she the Queen now?) and Prince James dedicating themselves to retaking Snow's kingdom, it was only a matter of time before soldiers would begin amassing outside the newly rebuilt walls. Belle couldn't be entirely upset about this – Snow and James were reputed to be kind, and had many advisers who knew a thing or two about magic. Perhaps if the keep were captured, she would finally be set free.

When word reached her that Snow and James had managed to capture Rumpelstiltskin, well, Belle would have even more reason to hope for rescue from that quarter. If she could just see him one more time, perhaps she could convince him to put an end to whatever game it was he had planned (Belle was no fool, and no pregnant princess was going to trick Rumpelstiltskin into captivity with a magic quill unless he meant for it to happen). It was the one thing that kept her from choosing a random knight or servant or anyone, really, to be her fake love. She'd found true love, and as long as Rumpelstiltskin drew breath Belle would not willingly surrender, regardless of whether or not he had failed to rescue her.

Hope, perhaps, had made her a little sloppy. It was the only excuse she had for why she'd allowed herself to be maneuvered away from Nottingham by Sir Guy.

"Sit with me awhile, Lady," he said, pulling her down onto a bench in a secluded area of the gardens with him, and Belle had very little choice but to accede to his request due to his death grip on her arm. He had chosen the spot well if he were looking to harass her more privately; this area was surrounded on three sides by heavy shrubberies and the open side overlooked the pond. Unless someone were to walk directly in front of them, they would be alone.

"Why must you torture me like this?" she asked him. It wasn't the first time she'd posed that exact question to one or both of them, but it was the first time she had been able to ask either one without the other's presence. Maybe this time she could finally get an answer.

"It's nothing personal, m'lady," he said with a shrug. "I'm sure you love the imp very much and you two would be very happy together. However, business is business and the queen has contracted me to keep you occupied while she takes care of some other things. I'm sure once she has a use for you, she'll come find a way to pry you from my clutches."

"Quite frankly I'm not sure which of you I prefer the least," she snapped.

"I've no particular need for a willing wife," he replied nonchalantly. "Nor a comely one, for that matter."

There was something in the way he eyed her at the last part that made her blood run cold.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say it would be more to your benefit to accept me than to mine to wait for your acceptance, Lady,"

His posture was so casual as he discussed raping and hurting her that Belle forgot her long-standing policy of politely ignoring him. She had to escape and she had to do it soon. She could not be around this man much longer.

As she tried to leave, though, he grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise and pulled her back down.

"Let me go!" she yelled as she tried to pull her arm away, but she only succeeded in digging his fingers in deeper.

"No," he replied. "I don't think I will. See, Nottingham and I have this thought that you like it a little rough, am I right? That's why you fell for the imp? Did he bring you into his bed right away or make you wait for it?"

"You know nothing," she spat out. He just grinned.

"I know a lot more than you, Lady," he snarled into her ear. "Tell me, how long did it take for him to use you up? How many nights before he grew sick of your charms? Is that why he cast you out, then? He'd already used you every which way and grew tired of you?"

"Leave me alone!" she cried out.

"Is that what you told him at first, too? Before he had you moaning like a whore beneath him?"

Belle could hear no more. Slapping him hard across the face and struggling, she finally managed to extricate herself from him and began to run. It was then that she realized the trap he had so expertly laid for her, for not twenty feet away were her father and Nottingham. They would, of course, have heard her shouts but not Sir Guy's threats. Her father wore a look on her face she'd only seen once before on the day she had returned, and Nottingham just looked smug. She could feel the color drain from her face before the world began to fade to blackness and she fainted.

_Storybrooke, May 2001_

As he unlocked the door to his house and let himself inside, Gold braced himself against the very real possibility that Lacey might have left after all. She'd been one foot out the door when he had gone out as it was, and he wasn't at all sure that a few hours to herself would have worked in his favor. It turned out there really wasn't any need for him to have worried, because as soon as he stepped into the house the unmistakable scent of something cooking hit him. Either Lacey was still here or he was being robbed by a very strange burglar.

He shut the door after himself, and Lacey leaned half out of the kitchen and smiled at him warmly.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she replied. "I'm making BLTs, if you want one."

So that explained the smell, then.

"Yeah, that sounds great," he replied. "Just let me put my jacket up."

She nodded and returned to the kitchen. This was so damn domestic he couldn't quite wrap his head around it. She was still here, she was happy to see him, and she was making him lunch.

He paused in the doorway between the rooms and watched her for a moment as she fussed over a frying pan. She was wearing her new clothes, he noticed, jeans and a shirt that left a tantalizing two inches of skin exposed around her middle. God, but he wanted nothing more than to reach out and wrap his arms around her, trailing finger tips along that bare skin again. He refrained, though – they had reached a new point in their relationship this morning and he couldn't risk pushing her too far too fast.

So instead of touching Lacey, he sat down at the breakfast bar and just watched her. It was nice to be able to do this openly for once and to be sure of his reception. She'd always been a little cagey about being watched, but she had a strange sort of grace about her that he'd always found a little fascinating.

"Did you buy groceries?" he asked her, only remembering that he didn't have any bacon (or any lettuce or tomatoes, but he was pretty sure there had been bread somewhere) as he watched her cut the sandwiches into quarters on their plates.

"A little bit," she said with a shrug. "I wasn't sure what you liked so I bought a few staples. Your fridge was kind of empty."

"I get a lot of takeout," he admitted sheepishly.

"Well, that's good," she replied. "I don't do a lot of cooking. You are about to taste one of the three things I actually know how to make."

He flashed her a grin before taking a bite, and enjoyed the little bit of pride that worked its way into her face at the enjoyment on his. Truthfully, though, he'd have loved the sandwiches even if she'd set them on fire before serving. Lacey didn't cook, it was something she'd made a joke of in the past. This wasn't lunch, this was a gesture and he could appreciate it for what it was – it was her quiet acceptance that she was willing to be whatever he wanted for the duration of her stay here. It was her way of saying that if he wanted to spend a weekend playing at having a girlfriend she would spend the weekend behaving like a girlfriend. She had accepted the deal he hadn't dared voice this morning. He should have known Lacey would understand even when he didn't entirely – she had always seen right through him.

He couldn't help but wonder whether she would be willing to keep this up if he asked, to stay longer than the weekend and maybe try a real relationship rather than their play-acting. But to ask her would be to admit what he wanted and to admit that either one knew what the other was doing would be to ruin the illusion entirely.

"So what are the other two things?" he asked finally, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled on them.

"Hm?"

"You said you can cook three things," he reminded her. "What are the other two?"

"Well," she said with a flirtatious grin. "You'll just have to wait and find out I guess."

"I suppose I will," he agreed. "Did you have any other problems shopping today, by the way?"

"You mean besides not knowing what the hell you'd eat for lunch?" she teased. "No, whatever you said to that one cashier worked. By the time I got to the pharmacy Tom Clark just looked at me funny and nobody else even blinked at the name on the card. Word travels fast around here I guess."

"It does," he replied.

He wanted to ask her if it bothered her, or if she'd preferred having kept whatever was going on with them quiet instead of broadcasting it like that. He didn't dare, though, not when she'd agreed to go out with him later – if anything would be broadcasting their situation, it would be that.

They ate in silence for the most part after that, but he was surprised at how comfortable it felt. He'd known Lacey for a while now, longer than he cared to remember, and as far as he could tell she was the only person in town who was worth a damn. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if she didn't leave after the weekend was over.

Eventually, though, the meal came to an end. Lacey picked up both plates and paused for a moment before heading to the sink, looking at him nervously. Finally, she bent down and placed a quick kiss on his cheek before rinsing off the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher.

Oh, well, to hell with _that._ He knew she didn't have feelings for him – honestly, he'd never expect her to – and he didn't have feelings for her. But if she was going to offer him affection, he was going to take it. It had been ages since anyone had, and somehow he doubted anyone but Lacey ever would again. So as she stood with her back to him, he got to his feet and came up behind her. She turned as though she expected him to go to her, but then again, perhaps she had. Perhaps this had all been part of her little game and she'd meant to lure him over.

No matter what it was, there was no denying the way Lacey quirked her head at him in an unspoken challenge as she placed her hands on the counter behind her as though to brace herself and stared at him unflinchingly. God he wanted to devour her. He leaned over her, placing his hands next to hers on the counter and enjoyed the extra few inches of height he had over her now that she was in her bare feet. She tilted her head up to look at him and he couldn't help grinning as he lowered his mouth to hers slowly, then pulled back at the last moment leaving her craning her neck upwards more to try to reach him. He did it again, and this time she narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're a motherfucking bastard, Gold," she said, her voice husky with lust.

He wasn't sure what it was, but something about beautiful Lacey with her delicate little accent hurling invectives at him had always charmed him, but now it just made him wish his leg were stronger so he could lay her out on the counter and fuck her senseless while she would let him. He compromised, pressing against her and bringing his mouth crashing down over hers. She made a little strangled noise in her throat, kissing him back hard, grabbing his tie in one hand and using it to keep him close. She teased his lip with her teeth, and he liked the little bit of pain. Lacey would never be soft, she would never be gentle, and she would always hurt a little, but damned if she wasn't exactly what he wanted right now.

His hands that had been itching to touch her bare skin found their way to her exposed midriff, caressing her hips and sides and lower back. She was so warm and so soft, he wanted to call it quits on the rest of the day and just take her to bed and stay there. He could do that, he realized. She seemed game for nearly anything today.

He dragged one hand up her body under her shirt to cup her breast, the scratchy lace reminding him of the dress she'd worn last night. She would stay the night again, he realized. He had at least one more night with Lacey French before this beautiful illusion was ruined. He would make the most of it, he promised himself.

"I hope you bought a nice dress," he murmured against her lips.

"Among other things," she replied breathily, toying with his tie and smirking a little. "I don't think you'll be disappointed."

She was going to kill him, he was sure, but at least he'd die a happy man. There were certain things his leg wouldn't let him do, and fucking that smirk off her face on that counter top was currently at the very top of the list, although even if he could do it he seriously doubted she'd any condoms stashed on her person at the moment. Oh well, there was more than one way to debauch a woman in a kitchen.

He growled against her throat, letting his hands roam down to cup her ass through her jeans before moving them away and pressing her back against the counter. She made a needy little whimper as his erection pressed into her belly and slid her hands down to his torso to pull the shirttails out of his trousers. Her fingers playing across the skin of his belly felt like they were burning him and he needed her to take her clothes off like he needed air.

He grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it up, and she obliged him by holding her arms up so he could pull the damn thing off and toss it to the side somewhere.

"Careful, Gold," she said in a low, teasing voice. "I just cleaned this kitchen a few days ago."

"Like you're ever doing that again," he growled, moving to press hard kisses to the skin of her neck.

"Probably not," she conceded breathily, and he wasn't sure if it was because she meant to quit or because she meant to stay with him but either way her lips were back on his and her tongue was in his mouth and he was once again struck with just how very _right_ she tasted. She was familiar and he couldn't explain why, as though he'd dreamed her a thousand times before. He refused to examine that little bit of witchcraft too closely, for fear of breaking the spell.

He couldn't resist anymore, working open her jeans and pulling them down her hips. He had no idea how she had managed to get the damn things on in the first place, but he ended up needing her help getting them off. Finally, though, her legs were free of the skin-tight denim and Lacey stood before him in her bra and panties. Damn her, she had bought matching lingerie. She had planned this.

He reached back to run his hands down over her ass and thighs, wrapping his fingers around her legs and scooping her up so she sat before him on the counter. Lacey smiled a wicked smile at him, her legs opened invitingly so he could stand between them.

"You're beautiful," he couldn't resist telling her. He wasn't sure where that impulse had come from, but he couldn't regret it. It was true, anyway. She was beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. How had he ever thought her merely pretty?

She didn't reply right away, instead loosening his tie with nimble fingers until she could pull it out of his collar and toss it off to join her shirt someplace. He dragged his blunt nails down her thighs softly as she slowly popped open the buttons of his shirt, pressing himself against her core before she could finish and enjoying the way she arched to meet him.

He slid a hand between them, cupping her through her panties and finding them soaked through. He hadn't ever anticipated having this effect on her, not even in his wildest dreams. But here she was, wet and willing and in his kitchen – it was nearly beyond his comprehension. She gave a low, throaty moan as his fingers found their way beneath her lace and elastic to probe into her gently. She gasped, arching back so that her breasts were just in reach of his mouth. Well, who was he to argue with an invitation like that? He pressed kisses along the soft, pale flesh outlined by the darker lace of her bra. His other hand came up, teasing one delicious nipple free for him and he closed his lips around it. She jerked from the pleasure and he made a mental note to do this again later tonight when he had her pinned beneath him on the mattress.

She was delightfully responsive to him, moaning and squirming to press herself against him as his fingers continued to tease and explore inside of her. His thumb circled her clit and he curled his fingers as he thrusted them in and out of her and she kept making sweeter and more desperate moans. He would keep her on edge as long as he could just to hear those noises. He would make her scream his name.

"Dammit, Gold," she panted. There was no venom in her voice, though, and he responded by making a humming noise around her nipple that made her give out a little high pitched shriek of pleasure that he would have to keep in mind for later.

"Oh, you bastard," she breathed out again. "Oh, God, you absolute...rat...bastard!"

Her voice got progressively higher in pitch as she swore at him, until at the last syllable she shattered around his fingers, her walls clenching tight on him and the fingers of one hand gripping his shirt for balance. He held her as she shuddered out the last waves of orgasm on his counter, only slipping his fingers from her when she had stopped convulsing.

When she finally let him go, leaning back breathlessly with a look of appreciation on her face, he smiled at her and she smiled back. It was a genuine smile, all tension having drained from her. He raised his eyebrows suggestively at her before popping the two fingers that had been inside of her into his mouth and sucking them clean.

Lacey whimpered again and sat back up to face him.

"Remind me to pay you back for this later," she said in what he was sure was supposed to be a threatening voice but which only sounded needy.

"Later?"

"Yeah," she replied. "When the room stops spinning."

"I look forward to it."


	11. Power Play

_The Enchanted Forest, three months pre-curse_

So her name was to be Emma. Of all the deals Rumpelstiltskin needed to complete in order to make this curse work, this had been among the most important and the seemingly smallest. Prince David and Princess Snow had traded their daughter's name in exchange for his prophecy of her fate. He couldn't help the little smile that came to his face at the thought. This was the final piece. The very last piece.

He let himself relax against the cell wall, casting off the mantle of madness he'd worn this last year for one blissful moment. _Emma. Emma would be the savior. Emma. Emma._

He was thankful the guards didn't like to be in the room with him, because it meant no one would see when he summoned a jar of squid ink and a parchment and began scribbling her name over and over again on the paper. This would let him remember, he knew. The moment he met the Savior, he would be saved. The rest of them would remain Regina's playthings, but Rumpelstiltskin would remember. The idea made him giddy.

His thoughts were interrupted then, by a strange little tug that he knew meant someone was calling for him. Were he not supposed to be trapped, he'd have taken the opportunity to appear behind them and conduct business as usual. He'd felt a few of these in the weeks since he'd been a guest of David and Snow's hospitality here, but usually they gave up after awhile. This one kept calling. Whoever it was, they were damn near desperate. He felt a little niggle of recognition, as though he knew the voice, but it was a strange thing to receive the calls in this 'magic proof' cage. Sometimes they were fuzzy and indistinct.

If he hadn't been so close to his goal now, he'd have made a game of seeing if he could sneak out and back in before the guards realized he was gone. Maybe make a deal for something silly with a lost soul who needed his guidance. He missed the dealing, if he were being honest with himself. It had been the one constant in his life since his son had left, and without it he felt lost. Boredom, probably. Rumpelstiltskin had an active mind, and he hated the idleness of captivity.

But he needed to be where he was, so he ignored the pull and eventually it grew quieter and softer and eventually it left off altogether. He couldn't decide why that made him so sad.

_Storybrooke, 2001_

Lacey knew she should probably feel cheap. She was in a bedroom of Gold's house, putting on a dress he paid for and preparing for a dinner date which he was also going to pay for, likely followed by sex (which he was _not_ paying for, thank you very much), and she still had his credit card in her purse. She didn't feel cheap, though, she actually felt damn expensive.

She knew what people would think – what they already thought – about her and Gold. She also wasn't sure they were entirely wrong in thinking that. Lacey couldn't find it in herself to give a fuck, though. Yeah, maybe she was screwing a guy for a place to stay but it was a nice place, and Gold was a nice guy (well, nice to _her_ anyway). The thing was, the longer she spent here and not at home the less like home her shared apartment and possessive ex-boyfriend felt. Gold was good to her; he'd protected her when she needed it, taken care of her when she had no place else to go, and had taken great pains to make sure she enjoyed all their encounters. She could have done worse for herself, in fact she _had_.

So yeah, maybe she was just another addition to his collection, another pretty thing to put on a shelf and look at when the mood struck. Or maybe he really wanted her around more. Either way, Lacey was going to convince Gold to keep her. She'd forgotten was it was like to have someone else take care of her, or even stand up for her. She couldn't leave, she just couldn't. Leaving meant going back to a real world that had stopped being a comforting place the same time her mother died. At least with Gold, nobody could (or would) touch her.

It had really been the thing with the cashier that had sold Lacey on sticking around. She was used to people talking shit about her, and she was used to people trying to push her, used to people trying to make her feel small. But as soon as she had Gold behind her, all of a sudden nobody dared to cross her. It was intoxicating, this first hint of power – oh she knew they didn't fear _her_, but frankly what difference did it make whether they were afraid of her or afraid of him? Power was safety, and Gold could offer her both of those things.

She inspected herself in the mirror one final time, liking the effect she'd achieved. From the front, she looked downright demure compared to most of her going out clothes. The dress she'd chosen was navy blue (to bring out her eyes), had a halter neckline, and clung gently to her curves. It was a bit low-cut but not overly so, and flared out a bit at the hip before ending at her knees. The low chignon she'd pulled her hair back in just added to the overall effect of being pretty, but not overly daring despite her red lipstick and kohl lined eyes. No, what set this dress apart was the back, or really the lack thereof. From behind, she was completely bare between the nape of her neck and a spot just below the small of her back. It was impossible to wear a bra with as well, and he was sure to notice that lack at some point during the evening. It was daring, it was sexy, and it was going to give him a fucking heart attack.

He may be the most powerful man in town, but sexuality was a power Lacey could wield like a rapier. What did it matter that he could buy and sell everything she owned a thousand times over, if she had power over him?

She knew he was waiting for her downstairs, and she had been ready for about fifteen minutes now. But Lacey knew it was good to make him wait. The anticipation would add to the effect, and frankly she liked that he _would_ wait for her. She had no problem staying here with him forever, but she also had no real interest in being a puppy who did what he said when he said it. She'd stay – hell, she _wanted_ to stay – but she had to do it on her terms.

When she finally reached the stairs to find him nursing a drink in the living room, she was almost disappointed until he saw her and froze. The tumbler of what she was sure was very expensive scotch was set on the table and forgotten as he stared at her the entire time she descended. She made a show of carefully making her way down the stairs as though unsure in her heels as he came over to meet her at the landing – anything to prolong the show she'd been carefully orchestrating all day. She had considered tipping into him on the last step to make him catch her, but discarded the idea as being too obvious. She was going to make him work for it.

"You were right," he said with a half smile on his face as he looked at her. "I am definitely not disappointed."

"I'm taking that as a compliment, Gold," she replied teasingly.

"It was meant as one – you look lovely," he said earnestly before reaching into his coat pocket. "I got you something."

He held a velvet box out for her, and she took it, popping the lid open and revealing a simple teardrop shaped pearl necklace on a gold chain. She smiled and looked up at him.

"It's beautiful, thank you," she said. "Could you help me with it?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, plucking it out of the case and gesturing for her to turn around.

She complied, successfully hiding her knowing grin as she turned away from him and heard his sharp exhale as he took in the view.

"Is everything okay?" she couldn't help asking innocently, looking over her shoulder at him.

He tried to glare at her, but gave up at the smug look that she could feel slipping back onto her face.

"You're a wicked girl, Lacey," he said as he carefully laid the pendant over her chest and fastened it behind her neck.

"You have no idea," she replied coyly, straightening the pendant a bit and letting it settle just over her breastbone. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it at the shop this morning," he shrugged. "Something about it reminded me of you. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she reassured him. It wasn't something she'd usually choose for herself, but it suited her dress perfectly and she found herself inexplicably drawn to it.

"I know flowers are usually traditional for a first date, but I wasn't really sure where you'd put them –" he shot her a grin before continuing, "and I didn't think I wanted to go to your father to buy a dozen roses after the rumor mill had time to work."

She couldn't help but giggle at the image of her terrified father selling Mr. Gold a bouquet of roses for her, especially if he'd already heard the tales of her spending the night in the man's house and emerging the next day wearing the same thing she had the night before.

"Oh God," she said. "You'd have come damn close to killing him, I think."

"So probably for the best, then, that I saw this."

She didn't know what to say to that, so instead she rose up on her toes and, resting her hands on his shoulders, pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He wrapped his hands around to rest on the bare skin of her back and she shivered and kissed him again. He looked for a moment like he wanted just say _fuck dinner_ and just carry her upstairs, but he seemed to think better of it before he could open his mouth. The man was apparently determined to be seen with her on his arm tonight, and she was more than happy to oblige.

One thing she hadn't thought through was that he might rest his hand on her back as they walked. It wasn't an odd thing for him to do; Gold was a gentleman and he was walking her to the car and in a normal dress this wouldn't have borne noticing. However, in _this_ dress it was incredibly sensual. Lacey may have misjudged just this once.

It wasn't any easier to take as he escorted her into the restaurant, hand still resting softly (and maybe a little possessively) over her spine. She could tell people were looking at them, but it wasn't the way people usually looked at her. There was some curiosity as to why Mr. Gold and Lacey French were out together, some nervousness about what trouble the two of them could cause, and perhaps varying amounts of pity and envy directed at one or both of them. Let them look, Lacey decided. She liked this a lot more than the judgmental whispers that usually followed her around, and if they wanted to see if she was selling herself to Gold then they were in for quite a treat.

Lacey made a point of walking close to him, clinging to his arm and letting people see that she was here _with_ him and not just with him. She smiled at him flirtatiously as he pulled her chair out for her, conscious of the show she was putting on for their audience. He seemed to understand her purpose, following suit and carrying on with gentle questions asked in his usual imperious tone. She didn't mind, though. Honestly, she kind of liked it. She knew that no matter how pulled together he was now, in a few hours he'd be crying out for her as she rode him.

He ordered for both of them, sending the waiter practically running off to the kitchen without even trying. They were served excellent wine and amazing food, and the entire time everyone watched them without looking. Lacey couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun. It was almost like a joke they were playing on the whole town. He was once again the man who owned them all, and she was the submissive ditzy gold digger. It was what everyone expected of both of them, and he played a part as much as she did in the face of criticism. Perhaps that was one of the reasons they got along so well.

By the time dinner was over and he'd paid the cheque, Lacey was about ready to fuck him there in the parking lot. She was high on the feeling of invincibility that being out with Gold gave her. She could go anywhere in town, do anything, and nobody would stop her. Whether or not it was the truth, she was now (in the eyes of the town) Mr. Gold's paramour and as long as the two of them remained on friendly terms she was entirely untouchable.

He walked her to his car, and she clung to him like a vine. She could feel a change in his entire body the moment they left the view of the people in the restaurant, he didn't relax exactly, but he settled more into himself. He wasn't a peacock strutting quietly and holding their attention, he was just a man on a date. She liked this side of him, too. She liked these little vulnerabilities because she was the only one who saw them. He'd never admit to her that he liked her, he'd never ask her to stay or offer her his heart on a platter. But he would let her see behind this mask, and from him that was as good as a marriage proposal from another man.

He opened the car door, letting her in before walking around to the driver's seat.

"I had a good time tonight," she said as he shut his door.

"Good," he said looking at her, his eyes were full of an earnest appreciation of the fact that she had enjoyed his company. "I'm glad."

She smiled at him, letting her eyes dart to his lips deliberately before slipping the tip of her tongue out of her mouth to wet her own. She had perfected this technique in high school, and it had a nearly guaranteed return on getting her kissed. Gold was no exception, leaning over tentatively as though still not entirely sure she wouldn't scream and slap him for touching his lips to hers. Lacey threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him still as she deepened the kiss and let her lips open so he could slip his tongue inside. The trick, she knew, was going to be letting him think he'd seduced her. Maybe he had, really – she'd had no intention of going home with _anyone _last night and yet had ended up in his bed all the same. Still, though, men like Gold wanted to work for their prize (wasn't that what this entire date had been about, impressing her with displays of his wealth and power?) and if she kept throwing herself at him he was going to get bored. So, tonight she would play the coquette and let him win her.

Lacey leaned forward towards him as they kissed, moving halfway into his lap as he leaned back against the seat. Gold took her cue, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer until she was sitting in his damn lap in the front seat of a Cadillac. Luckily, she was small and the car was large, so there was plenty of room for him to drag fingertips up and down her spine as she nibbled on his lip and kept twirling bits of his hair around her fingers. She liked his hair, she decided. It was a nice length to run her fingers through and oh-so soft.

She hummed in pleasure as he dragged his mouth away from hers to settle on her throat. She knew what he was doing, sucking and nibbling, leaving a red mark on her neck that would easily identify their activities to anyone who cared to look. He was laying a claim on her as surely as a name tag, but somehow Lacey didn't mind the presumption of ownership. She alone knew he wore matching marks beneath his clothes. Let the world think what they wanted about what kind of a girl she was and the dynamic of their relationship; she owned him as surely as they would think he owned her.

She could feel his cock pressing into her thigh in arousal and she shifted herself to put more pressure on him. He growled, nipping at her neck, and she couldn't help the low moan of pleasure that his actions inspired. Her breath was coming fast and she somehow didn't take him for the sort to want a quick fuck in the car after dinner. Gold would want a bed and home and the entire night to touch and be touched. She was eager for that herself. As much as she'd enjoyed their previous activities, she wanted to see what kind of man Gold was when he was going slow. She wanted to know where he would go when she let him lead.

"Gold?" she whispered into his hair as one of his hands came around to cup her breast, drawing a little gasp of pleasure from her.

"Yes?" he replied, sounding completely distracted by seeing how much of her skin he could touch at once.

"Take me to bed?"

He paused, looking up at her darkly before nodding once. She felt a sudden tug of arousal at the desperate look he had given her and she kissed him again before moving back to her own seat. No matter what happened when they got home, it promised to be an interesting night.


	12. Inner Workings

Just so you know, this story is now caught up with where I am actively writing it so the updates on this one will no longer be updating on the daily. Thanks to everyone who's left reviews and followed and favorited!

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_The Enchanted Forest, three months pre-curse_

Belle woke up in her room amidst a flutter of activity. She didn't know who had carried her upstairs, nor did she want to. She could hear her childhood nurse Nora scolding someone for fussing so much over a little fainting spell, then she heard her father protesting that he'd not be kept from his only child when she was unwell. Nora was talking about giving the physician room to work and the door shut and only then did she dare to open her eyes. Nora was there and so was the court physician, Carlton.

"There we are," he said once he noticed she was awake. "Feeling better?"

Belle nodded and tried to sit up, but he stopped her.

"None of that now, my lady. You've given us all a bit of a scare. Just rest for a bit and let me check to make sure you're all in one piece."

"I'm fine," she said as he pulled her eyes open to check her pupils. "I was just lightheaded is all."

"And does that happen often?"

"No, I just had a bit of a fright. I'm really fine now."

"Your father said you saw him and fainted," he probed gently. Well, as gently as he could whilst also feeling to see if she'd hit her head when she fell.

"Well, my father gave me a bit of a fright," she said a bit snappishly. "I'm fine now."

Carlton looked at her for a moment, seemingly trying to determine if she were lying or not – since everyone thought she was cursed, she was largely free to speak her mind and people generally assumed whatever they didn't like resulted from that. Apparently liking what he saw, he nodded and stood.

"Alright, then. But you are under strict orders to stay in your room tonight. Have one of your maids bring you a tray and stay off your feet for a few hours."

That suited Belle just fine. If she could stay in her room forever she would be perfectly pleased. She heard him repeating his instructions to Nora before leaving, and only once it was the two of them did she finally relax. The sight of her old nurse coming around to fuss over her was a welcome reprieve from the company she'd been forced to keep today.

"Alright my dear," Nora said as she moved to fetch Belle's nightdress from the screen in her room. "The physician would like you to spend the afternoon resting and I see no need for you to do that in your corsets and skirts. Come on, you'll feel better once you're not wearing those things."  
Belle tended to agree with Nora's assessment. Her time living as a maid had spoiled her with the softer stays she'd been allowed to wear under her dresses there. She'd not quite readjusted to her formal corsets yet. She pulled herself to her feet so Nora could unlace her dress. As her gown gaped open and slid down her shoulders, she heard Nora gasp. Glancing down, Belle saw what had caught the other woman's attention – there were bruises blooming around her upper arm where Guy had grabbed her earlier.

Belle turned around to see her maid with hands clasped over her mouth and tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh, my Belle..." Nora murmured. "What have they done to you?"

It was on the tip of Belle's tongue to deny anything was wrong, to try to comfort this woman who had raised her like a mother but she found she couldn't. Instead, she let herself be pulled into a tight embrace, sobbing her heart out as she explained the whole sordid tale.

"Well," Nora said after it was all over. "I always thought this whole curse business seemed a bit far-fetched. I've known you since you were a child and there's not been a man yet invented who could ever make you do something you didn't want to."

Belle laughed a bit, more from the relief having someone finally believe her than any other reason.

"Now, we'll just have to show these to your father and we'll get this all sorted out..."

"No, Nora," Belle interrupted. "I can't tell Papa. He's got his heart set on this fixing everything. If he saw them I don't know what he'd say, and I don't know that I could handle it if he dismissed them."

"That does limit our possibilities," Nora agreed, patting her on the arm. "But don't worry too much, my darling. We'll figure something else out."

Belle nodded sadly. She knew Nora meant well, but she'd tried everything already on her own and it was hard not to lose hope. Still, though, she had help now. Maybe this would be possible after all.

"You lay down now," Nora said. "I'll bring you up a tray myself and then we'll figure this all out. Everything will be alright, dear. You'll see."

Belle let herself be tucked into the bed like a little girl, and it felt good for just a moment to pretend that everything would be alright. Still, though, when the door was shut and she was finally alone for the first time since she had left the Dark Castle she called out for Rumpelstiltskin. She hadn't expected him to come, he clearly either still couldn't hear her or had chosen to ignore her or couldn't escape whatever he'd been trapped in. Just saying his name gave her some sense of closure, though. Now she could at least say she'd tried one last time.

There was no other person who could save her now. Belle would have to save herself.

_Storybrooke, 2001_

Something had come over Lacey today, and Gold was fascinated by it. After she'd practically climbed into his lap in the car and asked him to take her to his bed, she'd settled herself back in her seat and watched him with a strange look on her face as he drove them back to his house. She'd waited patiently for him to open the door for her before emerging from the car, and walked with him to the house. Once the door was shut, though, she made her way to the staircase before he had even locked the door. He leaned back and watched her like he knew she'd meant for him to. Her skirt swayed around her hips seductively and he wasn't above taking in the show.

Lacey paused midway, glancing back over her shoulder and smiling when she saw he was still watching her.

"Coming?" she said coyly, waiting until he nodded before continuing on her way up the stairs.

He followed not long after. He knew she was up to something but found himself helpless to resist the force of her when she looked at him like that. The first day he'd seen her he'd thought her a siren, and now he wondered if maybe he'd been right. He was powerless to resist her, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Lacey wasn't in the guest room he'd given to her when he reached the second floor. Instead, he found her standing in the middle of his room, facing the large mirror that sat above a dresser and slowly pulling pins from her hair.

He should probably resent this invasion into his private space, or take exception to the fact that she seemed to have settled herself in without so much as a by-your-leave from him. Instead, though, he found he was pleased that she seemed to have decided to stay. She pretended not to notice him, even as he walked further into the room, setting his cane against a dresser and coming up behind her as the thick mass of her hair dropped down onto her shoulders and she began to comb it out with her fingers.

Gold brought his hands to rest on her shoulders, softly trailing fingertips down the length of her arms and back up. She hummed in pleasure, leaning back against him a bit and closing her eyes. He took the moment to examine her in the mirror as he touched her. Lacey was beyond his comprehension, but then he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to understand her. He still wasn't sure if he was just a convenient place to stay or something more – or even if he wanted to _be_ more. This wasn't something to think about right now, though. Not when she was warm and willing and here. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her midsection and trailed the fingers of his free hand across her collarbone.

She moaned softly, reaching one hand up to weave her fingers through his hair and opening her eyes, watching him as he watched her. He'd never seen eyes as blue as hers, and they were striking even half-lidded and watching his hand slip beneath the neck of her dress to massage her breast.

Gold held her gaze as he teased her nipple. She arched her back a little when he pinched her softly, biting her lower lip in a most tantalizing way. He groaned as her body pressed against his erection, providing a delicious friction.

"Can you help me with my dress?" she said sweetly, as though she weren't wrapped halfway around him.

He nodded, trying to regain some sense of control as he released her. She brushed her hair back over her shoulder, revealing three small pearl buttons that held the straps of the dress together. He released them, and she let the dress slide down her body to pool on the floor at her feet. She stepped out of it and went to stand at the edge of his bed clad in nothing but a black lace thong, her ridiculous heels, and the necklace he'd put on her earlier. He was becoming increasingly convinced she was trying to kill him, and also increasingly convinced that he didn't give a damn.

He was next to her in an instant, pulling her body to his and kissing her hard. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. She had to stay, he decided. He'd ask her tomorrow because he couldn't go back to the life he had before knowing that he had _this_ in his grasp. Lacey sat on the bed before lying down and he followed her lead, laying to the side of her to as not to crush her as he kissed down her neck and chest to take a nipple in his mouth. She gasped as he did, and he felt a swell of masculine pride when she thrust her fingers into his hair and held him there.

He suckled her, swirling the dusky pink bud with his tongue and teasing it with his teeth. Lacey was moaning and crying out already, but when he dragged fingertips down her body and under her panties to tease her entrance she shuddered as though given a shock. Gold came close to pulling his hand back for fear of having done something unwelcome, but then she bent one knee, spreading her legs a little to give him better access. He was pleased to find her already wet for him as he pushed his middle finger deep into her. She let out a soft cry of pleasure, which turned into a whimper when his thumb came to work over her clit. It didn't take him long to have her gasping and moaning and clinging to his shirt as she came with a shout and buried her face in his neck.

He didn't see how he could ever tire of seeing Lacey coming undone like this. She was always beautiful, but she was always thinking so much – he could see the gears working in her head even when she was at rest, and it had always been so unbelievable to him that others thought her stupid. Lacey was constantly planning _something_, and he wasn't naive enough to believe he wasn't ever her target, he just didn't mind (frankly, he rather liked it). But when she was like this she was free. There were no ulterior motives, no larger plans, just Lacey finding pleasure in him.

Once she relaxed and he pulled his hand from her, though, Lacey was back. She took his hand and drew it up to her mouth, sucking his finger in slowly and tasting herself on him. He knew it was calculated to get a response from him, but damn did it get a response. Once she seemed satisfied with her work, she pulled him down to kiss her again.

"Do you care about this shirt?" she asked.

He could do nothing but shake his head and she grinned, pulling his tie off and tugging his shirt. He took her meaning immediately, sitting up and pulling hard, buttons ripping off as she helped him shed it. She sat up and kicked off her heels before moving her hands to work open his belt and pants. Once she had him exposed, she traced his length with gentle fingers. She leaned down and before he could say anything one way or the other she had him in her mouth.

Gold thought he might be losing his mind. He honestly couldn't remember the last time anyone had done this for him, and the fact that it was Lacey had him damn close to spilling then and there. He managed to hold out, though, even as she twirled her tongue around the head and sucked him further into her mouth, mimicking her earlier work on his finger. After a few minutes she finally pulled her mouth off of him with a loud _pop,_ sitting back and looking at him with a self satisfied smirk on her face. She was toying with him, he realized. This had been part of her plan all along. Rather than being off-putting, though, he found the idea of her spending her day planning his seduction unbearably erotic.

He grabbed her hair, pulling her in for another hard kiss before shedding his trousers and boxers. Lacey followed suit, removing her panties and moving further up the bed to pull a condom from his nightstand. Oh yes, this had been planned and planned well.

Lacey welcomed him on top of her with open arms, her legs wrapping around his hips and her hand guiding him to her entrance. She held him tight as he moved into her, crying out for him with each thrust and leaving kisses and bites all along his shoulders and neck. As his thrusts became more erratic, her nails dug hard into his back and she called his name before he spilled himself at last.

Lacey held him tight as he caught his breath, kissing the top of his head until he felt strong enough to turn off the light and draw her into his arms. He didn't know what morning would bring between them, but he didn't need to right now. For the moment, it was enough that she had wanted him even for one night.


	13. Creature Comforts

_The Enchanted Forest, days before the curse_

It's just us, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin called out into the darkness of his cell. "You can show yourself."

A swirl of purple magic was his only warning before one of the rats that had been scurrying about in the dungeon was suddenly Regina, clad in black and radiating annoyance as she turned to face him.

"That curse you gave me," she said indignantly. "It's not working."

"Aww, so worried," he teased her. When she was angry, she was oddly more predictable and easier to deal with because at least then he could always expect her to lash out. "So, so worried. Like Snow and her lovely new husband."

"_What?_"

"They paid me a visit as well," he replied, ignoring her tone. "They were very anxious. About you and the curse."

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth," _or some version of it._ _"_That nothing can stop the darkness. Except, of course, their unborn child. You see, no matter how powerful, all curses can be broken." _And didn't he know that better than anyone?_ "Their child is the key. Of course, the curse has to be enacted first..."

"Tell me what I did wrong."

She was growing impatient, desperate even. This was it. This was the moment.

"For that, there's a price."

"What do you want?"

She was used to this, he knew – she had expected it, and she was prepared to meet any price he chose to exact in her desperation to bring the curse before the infant savior could be born.

She would fail, of course, but he had no reason to tell her that.

"Simple," he replied. "In this new land, I want comfort. I want a good life."

"Fine," she said after a long moment. "You'll have your _comfort._ You'll have an estate, be rich."

He didn't trust the cruel smile playing across her features now, but he never had trusted Regina at all. He supposed he trusted her to betray him at every opportunity, but at least he knew that she wouldn't dare go back on her word. She might twist it in strange ways, but she could never outsmart him, and in that there was some safety.

"I wasn't finished," he snapped at her. "There's more."

"There always is with you."

In the end, Regina agreed to all his terms as he had always known she would. She would kill her father and cast the curse he had given her. He should probably feel guilt for the fate of Prince Henry. First he tried to run away with the man's bride and now he was indirectly responsible for his death. What was the point in regret, though? Everyone would be affected in one way or another by this curse, and at least Henry wouldn't be trapped like everyone else. He had escaped Regina's curse in the one way that was possible. If anything, this was a small mercy.

Still, something about this latest deal struck him as odd. He wasn't surprised Regina thought she could get something over on him. She'd yet to succeed, but that didn't mean it wasn't worrying that he wasn't sure what she'd meant by _comfort_.

But he had come so far, and he couldn't risk his entire plan now that he was so close just because Regina thought she could outsmart him. She had always failed in the past, and she would fail again – of that he was sure.

_Storybrooke, 2001_

They did manage to sleep in on Sunday – or at least, they managed to stay in bed late. It surprised Lacey a little that Gold was a cuddler (it had, after all, been possible that Friday night had been a fluke due to his pressing himself flush to her back in order to finger her to completion) but when she woke Sunday morning he was once again curled around her with one arm cradling her head, the other draped around her midsection and his legs bent to follow the curve of her knees. She'd never been one for prolonged contact after sex and she hated the feeling of someone breathing the same air as her. This was nice, though; having his body wrapped around hers as though to shield her from the outside world and keep her safe. It was something she could get used to, if she wasn't careful – it was also dangerously close to affection.

He stirred a little, pulling her closer before settling again and she felt his cock beginning to stiffen against her ass. It had been a while since Lacey had an opportunity to wake up to a hard-on, and she couldn't stop herself from rubbing softly against him to see if she could get him all the way up before he woke. Instead, he rolled over onto his back, interrupting her game but giving her a deliciously evil idea when she saw the way the blanket tented. They were both still naked, having fallen asleep not long after their activities of the previous evening, and that really just made this easier.

She rolled over to face him, her head resting over his heart and her hand trailing down his chest to find his cock under the blanket. She stroked him lightly until he moved, then stilled her hand, waiting for him to fall back asleep. She repeated this a few more times until he was hard and ready under the covers, fluid beginning to bead at the top of the head.

Carefully so as not to wake him, Lacey made her way down the bed until she was buried beneath the covers. She'd teased him with this last night, and his reaction had been worth it. She liked getting reactions out of him, and she intended to get another one now. Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock firmly, she slid her tongue up the length of him before sliding him into her mouth. He made a little whimpering noise in his sleep and she knew she was close to being caught. She continued her slow pace, focusing more on her tongue and the suction of her mouth than on moving him in and out. This wasn't to get him off yet, it was to wake him up.

She knew when he woke, because suddenly his whole body jerked from shock and the blankets were thrown off of her. She glanced up at his startled expression before returning to her earlier attentions and was rewarded with his loud moan.

"Good God, Lacey," he choked out. "What are you _doing_?"

She bobbed her head up and down a few more times before sliding her lips off of him.

"Morning, sunshine," she said teasingly, resting her head on his hip next to his cock while her hand continued what her mouth had begun. "Sleep well?"

He stared at her for a moment incredulously, as though not quite sure she were sane before his gaze heated and darkened.

"You're a minx," he growled, pulling her up to eye level.

"You like it," she returned with a smile.

He didn't answer, instead kissing her hard and pulling her up to straddle him. She took his meaning, going back to the end table for a condom before lowering herself over him. He met her with his thumb circling her clit as she rode him at a leisurely pace until both of them collapsed on the bed, utterly spent and beyond caring that the world outside continued to move forward.

But move forward it did, and by the time they had both finally climbed out of bed and showered (separately, which she suspected was largely because he wasn't quite comfortable with being naked in front of her outside of bed and honestly she appreciated the time to collect her thoughts), it was practically lunchtime and decisions had to be made.

It was Sunday. Tomorrow, Lacey either had to return to her old job and her old life or else he was going to have to offer to let her stay. There was no third option, and returning to her old life was barely an option at all. She'd spent a weekend as Gold's concubine; if she left and went back to Brad's sofa and her designer knockoffs from two years ago, she had no idea what would happen. She'd still have some protection as Gold's friend and possible lover, but she didn't want to face the looks she was bound to get either way.

The problem was, she had no idea how to convince him any better than she already had. The man was practically obsessed with her naked body and he still hadn't asked her for his credit card back. Did he just expect her to keep sleeping over and buying new clothes every day? Did he want her to ask him first? She was going out of her mind.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "We could go out."

And here he was again, asking her to go out in public with him – asking her to invite gossip that could only hurt her without any guarantee of protection come morning. Lacey was trying to work out what he meant by all this, but it was no use. He didn't treat her like he treated everyone else. He was never cruel to her (he could say cruel things, but he never meant them and never did more than laugh if she fought back), he never made deals with her, and he never took advantage. Instead, he respected her and he treated her as an equal. Did he even have an ulterior motive here?

"Where did you want to go?" she replied, conveniently side-stepping all of her legitimate questions in favor of the one she knew that he would answer.

"Your friend Ruby works at Granny's, doesn't she?" he said, after thinking for a moment.

"Yeah," Lacey confirmed. "Mrs. Lucas is her grandma."

"We'll go there, then."

So they would go see her friend, then. And hopefully he meant this as a declaration of intent because otherwise she had no idea what his game was.

He drove them to Granny's, parking on the street and coming around to open the passenger side door for her as he had done last night. He had his Mr. Gold persona in full effect already, and she knew the part he wanted her to play in this before she had even gotten out of the car. She was once again on his arm rather than by his side. She was there to be beautiful and looked at and to make sure everyone else in town knew he could afford to keep her.

Lacey didn't necessarily mind being _kept_ if he would just tell her honestly that was what he wanted from her. It was the uncertainty that was driving her mad.

Speaking of being _mad_, she felt Gold tense up next to her and that was the only warning she got before she heard the mayor's voice.

"Mr. Gold," Regina Mills practically snarled. "What a surprise seeing you out and about on a Sunday. And with my maid."

Lacey had been working for Regina longer than she wanted to think about. The woman had spent weeks staring at her cruelly and never speaking to her. She knew that the other woman knew her name, and also that this was meant to embarrass both her and Gold. It didn't work – everyone in town knew what Lacey did for a living and by now almost everyone knew she'd spent the weekend with Gold – but Lacey still bristled at the painfully obvious attempt to humiliate her.

She could say something bitchy to Regina (she'd had _plenty_ of insights into what Regina might be sensitive about), and she knew that Gold would back her up, but she wanted to see how this was going to play out without anybody pointing out that if Lacey had any desire to be a mother she certainly could have found a father for it.

"Ah, Madame Mayor," Gold said with an obviously fake cheerfulness. "What a pleasant surprise. I do believe you've met Lacey French."

Regina glared at both of them as though they had personally murdered her dog, but Gold seemed completely unimpressed by her attempts at intimidation.

"Was there something you wanted, dearie?" he said finally, when Regina had made no move to do anything but stare at them angrily.

She seemed surprised he'd spoken, but she quickly covered it.

"I was just wondering if you'd made any headway with what I asked of you."

"You mean the child you wanted me to procure?" he said sharply. "If you ever checked your messages, you'd know that there's a boy in Massachusetts. You'll need to make an appointment on Monday to go meet with a social worker in Boston. I left you the details. So if you'll please step aside, we were just about to have lunch."

"Well," she said with a strange sort of forced smile that put Lacey on edge. "I suppose you've upheld your end of the bargain admirably well. You've earned yourself a bit of _comfort_."

Regina stalked off, leaving Lacey feeling strange about their encounter. Nothing had made sense. Regina wasn't the sort to not check her messages even on the weekend. She should have noticed if he'd left her one. And the way Regina had referred to Lacey as 'comfort' made her ill. She knew what she was, but the way the mayor had phrased it left her feeling dirty in spite of herself – and not in the fun way.

She refused to let that ruin their day, though. So she pushed down the hatred that was threatening to consume her and followed Gold to a booth inside the diner. She did _so_ enjoy the way everyone averted their eyes and abruptly finished their conversations as they entered. Regina may be the mayor of this town, but Gold was the undisputed king which made Lacey the closest thing to a queen they had.

She smiled at the sight of everyone trying desperately not to make eye contact with her. Perhaps it was true what they said, and power did corrupt. But Lacey didn't feel corrupted, she felt safe.

Ruby gave Lacey a strange look as she left the counter to come take their orders, whispering instructions for Lacey to call her later as she left. She should have known her best friend would want details of what had been going on, but Lacey needed to know for herself where they stood before she gave those.

"So," she said after Ruby had left her Diet Coke and his lemonade on the table. "Did you have any plans for tomorrow?"

Fuck it. Subtlety was never her strong suit, and she was rapidly running out of time.

"Probably going to work and coming home," he replied. "Like always. What about you?"

"Similar," she said flippantly. "Although it's going to be a little awkward going home tonight. If my things aren't out on the street by now."

He winced a little at that and averted his gaze for a moment before settling back on her.

"Why don't you stay?" he finally said. "Until you find a place of your own, at least."

"I could do that," she said as casually as she dared. "I'll have to go get my things tonight or tomorrow, though. If they're still there."

"Don't worry about it," he replied easily. "I'll send Dove to collect them for you."

She only knew Dove from having seen him around – he worked as a bouncer at the Rabbit Hole, but he was basically muscle for rent and Gold used him occasionally for debt collection.

"Alright," she agreed. "So I guess you're stuck with me a little longer."

She slipped her shoe off and ran her foot up his leg slowly, feeling smug at the expression on his face. Whether he liked her or if he just wanted her, he had always been good to her and that was more than she could say about almost anyone else in this town.


	14. Getting Out

_Please note, there is a __**domestic abuse trigger warning**__ on this chapter._

* * *

_The Enchanted Forest, two months pre-curse_

Belle and her maid Nora had been over everything they could think of to try to get her out of the wedding. She'd at least reached a point where she didn't have to pretend to like Sir Guy, but that was small comfort when she had another two weeks of freedom before she was expected to wed the man.

Belle had been over all the potential escape routes a thousand times by now, and even having Nora on her side wouldn't be enough to get her out of the castle and into the woods. Once she was there, she had enough faith in the survival skills Mulan had taught her that she was pretty sure she could escape into a neighboring country. She thought King Midas might give her shelter. He'd been a one-time ally of her father's (back when King Leopold was alive, anyway) and she and Princess Abigail had been friendly during Belle's visits to court. The relationship had only turned sour after her father had sided so publicly with Queen Regina and Midas had thrown his support behind Prince James and Princess Snow White. If she couldn't find safety there, Belle was sure there were any number of places she could go. Her father had burned many bridges because of all this, and she was sure that even with the stain of Rumpelstiltskin upon her there would be plenty of people who would take her in as an example to Regina. She just had to get out of the city first.

After much debate, there was really only one place Belle thought she could turn. Her family had a patron fairy, though she'd never seen her before. Her father hadn't trusted them, and had raised her with a healthy mistrust of the entire species – he'd even preferred dealing with the Dark One over calling on the fairies, which had told Belle everything she needed to know.

But her father wasn't to be trusted now, and Belle had no other recourse as she stood on her balcony in the chill night air. She found the star she was looking for, and she _wished_.

"Oops!" she heard from behind her, and she turned to see a thin woman in a fluffy pink confection of a dress stumbling a little. No, she amended to herself, it wasn't a woman. This was a fairy.

"You – you're my family's patron fairy?" Belle couldn't help asking. She'd somehow expected someone...more.

"Oh, no," the fairy said with an apologetic smile. "All the senior fairies are very busy with fairy business. So it's just me, I'm afraid. I'm the Pink Fairy, but you can call me Nova."

Nova was still smiling so hard Belle was worried she might hurt something, but she could also tell the fairy was trying to make a good impression.

"Can you help me?" Belle asked her, because really that was the only important thing. "Can you help me escape?"

"Well..." Nova's smile began to falter here. "I'm supposed to tell you to be patient because good things come to those who wait."

"That's terrible advice!" Belle blurted out. "My father wants me to marry a man who will harm me in _two weeks_. I already waited months trying to find my own way out. I can't wait anymore."

"Oh, that's awful!" Nova exclaimed, putting her hands over her mouth in her shock. "Why would he do that?"

"He thinks I'm cursed," Belle admitted. "Regina – the Evil Queen – told him that Rumpelstiltskin cursed me to love him, but he didn't! He didn't curse me. I loved him on my own and now..."

Belle collapsed onto the chaise near her bed, all her energy having left her after that outburst. She found herself becoming more and more exhausted by hiding all the time. She just wanted to be free. Was that really so wrong?

"That's silly," Nova said as she came to sit with Belle. "You can't make someone love you through magic. If you could, there wouldn't be a magic user alive who was ever lonely."

She turned away, and Belle pretended not to see the glistening in her eyes.

"I'm not supposed to help you," Nova said slowly, and Belle could sense a 'but' coming. "But you're not cursed, Belle. And don't let anyone tell you that you're wrong for being in love. No matter who it's with. It's never wrong."

"Then what do I do?"

Nova took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"There is a way..."

_Storybrooke, 2001_

Monday went much as Lacey had expected. She woke with Gold, seeing him off to the shop before calling in to take a personal day from work. True to his word, Gold called Dove and sent him to get her before lunch time. He took her to her old place, and she spent a few hours packing up the things she wanted to take with her to her new life.

There was a depressingly small amount worth taking, honestly. She had already replaced all her toiletries, and aside from her collection of lipsticks, none of her makeup was really worth saving, either – she could buy better things anyway (and probably should if Gold intended to continue to take her nice places). By the time she finally had everything sorted, her clothes took up two suitcases carried by Dove and she held a small box containing a jeweled mirror that had belonged to her mother, her jewelry box, a picture of her and her father, and a few other sentimental keepsakes. Everything else either wasn't worth holding onto or had too much Brad associated with it.

Gold had asked her to be home when he returned from work at five-thirty, and she'd burned up most of her free time already by the time Brad returned home from work.

Dove had taken her suitcases to the car, leaving Lacey alone upstairs with her box of sentimental items when Brad finally walked in. He did a double take when he saw her standing in the living room doing a quick survey to make sure she'd not forgotten anything.

"Well, well, well," he said with a strange little smile on his face. "Looks like he got sick of you after all."

She narrowed her eyes at him. He'd clearly just gotten off work at the docks before coming home – he was still wearing his uniform and his arms were streaked with grime.

_Be above it, _she reminded herself. Her one refuge was in audacity, and he didn't know that she wasn't here alone. She was safe.

"The opposite, actually," she said flippantly. "He's asked me to move in."

Well, he had suggested she stay while she look for another place, but that was close enough.

"So you're his whore now," Brad said perfectly calmly. "Gotta say, I didn't think the old bastard had it in him. Or I guess technically, he had it in you."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't flinch. She just had to get past him and through the door and she could go back to Gold and safety and security. She was five feet away from freedom.

"So what's it like?" he said as he moved from the doorway to approach her. Lacey took an instinctive step back, moving herself further into the room and further away from freedom. "What's it like fucking a guy old enough to be your dad? Does everything still work?"

She knew Gold wouldn't want her to respond to that, but pride and some protective instinct refused to listen to him talking shit like that.

"Everything works _perfectly,_" she let innuendo drip from the last word and knew he took her meaning when she saw him clench his jaw. She was playing a dangerous game, but she'd never been able to stop herself with him, never been able to hold her temper in check even when she probably should have.

And now, she realized, she didn't have to.

"You should probably see if he could give you any pointers," she said as she started circling slowly, trying to get a clear path to the door.

"I never heard any complaints out of you," he spat out. "I actually remember you being pretty pleased."

"Well then, I guess you and I remember things a little differently," she was getting close to the door now, but he'd been circling with her and it would be a tight squeeze to sneak past him without help. "I broke up with you for a reason."

He chuckled a little.

"Oh come on, Lacey," he was blocking her way again. "You and I both know that wouldn't have stuck. Face it, babe, we were good together."

He moved closer to her as he spoke, backing her against a wall and holding her chin in his hand.

"We were always a shitty match," she tried to keep her voice even as she spoke, but she felt fear beginning to squeeze at her chest. "And I'm getting the fuck away from you."

"You'll be back," he replied. "You always come back. Come on, let's just talk about this."

"I'm through talking," she said simply. "Let me go, I'm leaving."

He pulled back and she flinched as he slammed his fist into the wall next to her head.

"God dammit, Lacey!" he screamed, blood beginning to weep from the places his knuckles had split on the drywall. "You always do this!"

"Do what?" she yelled back. "I always stand up for myself? Don't let you bully me into staying?"

"Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?" he retorted. "I let you stay here, I took care of you, all I ever asked was some goddamn respect!"

"If you want my respect then you should earn it," she shot back. "You're an asshole and a failure and I'm sorry I ever met you."

"What, so just because I'm not some fucking rich bastard who can pay you to spread your legs that makes me a failure?"

"No, the fact that you've been living in this shit-hole of a town since high school because you never wanted anything better makes you a failure!"

"Then why are you still here, huh?" he had his hands on either side of her body, trapping her between him and the wall. She held her box against her chest, it was her last line of defense between them. "What does that make you? Because you always fucking want shit, Lacey, and you don't have any of it. Nothing is ever good enough for you!"

She didn't answer, because she knew what that made her. He was right: she was a whore. She wanted out, and Gold was the one guy in town who could maybe make that happen and she would give him whatever the hell he wanted if he would just take her with him. But – and this was the thing – she didn't think that made her a bad person. She had never once lied to him, never once mislead him. Gold knew exactly what this was. No matter how well they might dance around admitting the truth, they both knew why he wanted her and why she wanted him. It might be pure commerce, but at least neither one of them was playing the other one.

In Lacey's opinion, there was a big difference in morality between having sex with a guy you were fond of and who was good to you because he could afford to protect you and a guy bullying a girl into sticking around because he couldn't admit to himself that she didn't want him anymore. At this point, it wasn't even about not wanting Brad. She hated him a little more each day, and hated herself for not being strong enough to walk away. Well, here she was walking away.

"Maybe I am a whore," she finally said. "And a bitch, and a slut and whatever else you want to call me because you don't want to admit the truth. But the truth is I'm leaving, Brad. You can scream and yell and break whatever the hell you feel like breaking, but I'm through. _We're_ through."

"We're not over until I say we are," he shouted. His face was close enough that his breath wafted over her and she squeezed her eyes shut because she didn't want to see his face. She didn't want to see the blow when it came, and she was sure he was going to hit her.

He didn't hit her, though. And eventually she became aware that she didn't feel smothered by his body heat, either. She slowly opened her eyes and almost fainted with relief. Dove was holding Brad's wrist above his head. He'd clearly grabbed the other man in the process of taking a swing at her.

"Stay out of this, Dove," Brad finally growled. "It's between me and Lacey. What are you even doing here, anyway?"

"He's here to take me home," she said when Dove didn't reply right away. "Here's the thing about money, Brad, maybe it doesn't buy happiness but it sure as hell doesn't hurt."

"You ready to leave?" Dove said to Lacey.

"I am," she replied, drawing herself up to her full height. "Goodbye, Brad."

Dove didn't join her until she was out the door and into the hallway. She heard something smashing from old apartment and she was sure that it was probably something she'd left behind, but she hadn't left anything she ever wanted to see again anyway. Let him rant and rave and destroy his living room. She had greener pastures and she never, ever wanted to darken this door ever again. That was her promise to herself, that she'd never go back.


	15. October 22

_The Enchanted Forest, one-year pre-curse_

"Lost, are we?" Rumpelstiltskin said from his perch on a fallen log. Prince Charming was sprawled out beneath him, having tripped rather unceremoniously in his haste to run deeper into the forest.

"What are you doing here?" the other man griped.

"I'm just here to help."

"Well there's no need, I'll be fine."

And Rumpelstiltskin would be a monkey's uncle.

"No, I don't think so," he replied. "This is the infinite forest. There's no way out, except my way."

"I want nothing from you."

Gods, this shepherd-prince had become foolhardy since he'd been on the farm last, hadn't he?

"Not even this?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, holding his hand out to reveal the ring the young prince had kept tucked in his waistband.

"My mother's ring!" Charming exclaimed, glancing down to where he'd last known it to be. "It was just...how did you get it?"

"The same way I get everything I want – magic." Well, almost everything he wanted anyway. Magic had cost him everything he'd loved and failed to replace any of it. "The same magic that allows me to do...this!" Rumpelstiltskin tossed the ring into the air, letting magic weave over it. "This ring is now enchanted. The closer you get to Snow White, the brighter it will glow. Interested?"

"Give it to me!"

"Ah-ah!" Rumpelstiltskin pulled his hand back as Charming lunged towards him. "It's not something for nothing, dearie! Would you like to make a deal?"

"No! No more deals!"

Prince David-turned-James drew his sword and lunged for the sorcerer in one fast movement, apparently forgetting that the other man _had magical powers_ and seeming surprised when his quarry had vanished and reappeared behind him. Rumpelstiltskin did this a few times, taunting the princeling as he went. The boy didn't seem to realize he was being toyed with, attacking each time the other man flashed away.

They ended up locked together for a moment, before Charming managed to break apart. He slashed towards Rumpelstiltskin, leaving a cut on the imp's face. He seemed to relax a little, then, a smug sort of satisfaction blooming on his face. His smile faded, however, when Rumpelstiltskin moved a hand across his cheek, healing the cut instantly.

The boy made one final thrust at the Dark One, only to be disarmed. He made a move to grab the sword, only to find it held at his throat.

"Looking for this?" Rumple teased the boy. "So brave, so gallant, so pointless. Bravery won't get you out of this forest, dearie – magic will. Trust me, this is a deal you want to make because we both want the same thing."

"What's that?" Charming said suspiciously as he rose to his feet.

Well, at least the boy had gotten smarter since their last deal.

"Why, you and your true love to be together, of course!" He made a show of pulling out the true love potion he'd crafted from the hairs of Charming and Snow White. "Behold! The most powerful magic of all, true love." He jerked his vial back as Charming reached for it. "Ah! Careful, this is all I have left of it."

"What do you know of true love?" the boy challenged.

My, wasn't that a loaded question, but Rumpelstiltskin had never been above telling the truth when it behooved him to do so – and this was one of those times.

"Well, not so much as you perhaps, but not so little as you might think."

"You...loved someone."

Well, he didn't need to sound _so_ surprised!

"Yes, I did," Rumpelstiltskin admitted. "Once upon a time."

His voice broke a little, but he covered it up with an obscenely high pitched giggle.

"What happened?"

Well, trust Charming not to let go of _that_ detail no matter how little he wanted to deal with it. Still, words came to him as well. The same ones he'd given to Belle when she pressed him on a similarly sensitive topic.

"I lost her," he said finally. "That's the thing about true love, dearie, it can slip through your fingers. It's the most powerful magic in the world, the only magic powerful enough to break any curse. It must be protected at all costs."

"I don't understand," Charming replied. "What exactly is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to help me protect it by putting it in a safe place for me."

"Where's that?"

"Inside the belly of a beast, of course!"

Rumpelstiltskin gave another high-pitched giggle, partially to set Charming on edge but also because he desperately needed to cover how much speaking of Belle had affected him.

"Why hide it?"

Oh, good boy. Always ask the details before you make a deal. He was learning.

"Let's just say I'm saving it for a rainy day."

_Storybrooke, 2011_

Lacey French had become a fixture of rent day in the time since she'd moved in with Gold. Generally, they spent their days apart – he would arrive at the pawn shop promptly at 9:30 and return home by 5:30, and Lacey was free to spend her time as she wished (as far as he could tell, this was largely shopping, visiting with her friend, or lounging around home), but she was always there when he got home in the evenings. Rent days, however, were something else entirely.

Everyone knew that on the twenty-second of each month, rain or shine, the pawn shop did not open. Instead, Mr. Gold would make a tour of the town collecting rent with Lacey French by his side. If anyone had hoped that regular physical affection would have mellowed Mr. Gold, they were disappointed. If anything, Lacey's presence made him more merciless. She never seemed to grow tired of watching him threaten the tenants. Rent day had always been one of Gold's favorite days, but since Lacey came around he had even more reasons to enjoy it.

This particular twenty-second was no different than the others. The people remained the same, only the gossip ever changed. This month, the tenants were talking about how Henry Mills had snuck out yesterday and gone missing, only to be returned by his birth mother later that evening. According to the rumor mill, young Henry had run away rather than being abducted which was clearly small comfort to his mother. Privately, Gold didn't really blame the boy for wanting away from Madame Mayor but he kept that to himself. Everyone was thinking the same thing, anyway.

In any event, he had far more interesting things to think about than the home troubles of a woman he despised and a child who would quite likely be perfectly content with a few letters from the birth mother and an extra present on Christmas.

"Let's make a stop at the shop," Lacey whispered to him between her father's shop – where she had waited outside – and a block of apartments. "I need you to take all my clothes off."

"I don't believe I can say no to a request like that," he said with a smile, letting her pull him towards his pawn shop.

The sign remained flipped to _closed_ even after they were safely ensconced inside and the doors locked again. Lacey was leading him into the back by his lapels with a wicked grin on her face.

This wasn't an entirely uncommon occurrence – people had simply been forced to get used to him making rounds late, for example, or taking an extra long lunch – Lacey was occasionally insatiable and frequently liked to surprise him at work. He sometimes marveled at how easy it had been to acclimate to her presence once she'd moved in. Staying as long as she needed had rapidly turned into staying forever (especially once she was unceremoniously let go from her house cleaning job the day after she moved in), and casual sex had become gifts on special occasions and sharing a bed nightly.

It would be a lie now to pretend like she wasn't his girlfriend.

They made their way to the back, shedding clothing as they went. She always brought out this side of him, in a way no one else ever had before. Soon, he was sitting on the bed in the back room and massaging her hips adoringly. Lacey was a wanton goddess, and he was content to worship her in their bed. She gave him a wicked grin as though reading his thoughts, and slowly brought her fingers up to undo his tie. She then planted herself in his lap and kissed him hard.

"You're a naughty girl, Lacey," he breathed into her ear and was rewarded with a shiver.

"You've just been a bad influence on me, Gold," she replied. "I was a goddamn angel before we met."

He didn't respond. Instead he slipped his hands up her skirt and under her panties, causing her to gasp and press herself against him. As she pushed him back and began to fasten his hands to the posts of the bed with his tie, he knew he would be home late tonight. However, rent days had never been more enjoyable than with her there.

He wasn't usually out this late, but his little detour with Lacey had cost him the better part of the afternoon and a good portion of the evening, and so it was rather late before he finally got to the diner/Bed & Breakfast which would be his last stop of the evening. Lacey's heels had long since become too uncomfortable for her to continue with him, so she'd traipsed off back home promising to wait up for him – that was plenty of incentive to hurry up and finish his rounds as far as he was concerned.

It was late enough that the diner was largely empty, so Gold went straight through to the inn. There was a blonde woman standing at the desk as he approached, but he paid her no real mind. He had far more interesting things on his mind than some stranger –

"Emma," she said. "Emma Swan."

_Emma. Emma...savior. Charming Snow White. True love. Rumpelstiltskin Dark One dagger...oh gods, Bae – Baelfire. My son. Son. Magic. Spinner. Milah Cora Belle. Belle!_

It was like being punched in the gut. Words and images kept scrolling through his mind faster than he could process them. He was Rumpelstiltskin, and this was his curse. Regina had cast it for him, and this woman standing before him...she was Emma. _His_ Emma. The girl whose conception he had done everything in his power to ensure short of offering her father pointers. He felt a strange paternal pride seeing her now, having somehow managed to find them all. He had memories of some encounters with Regina eleven years ago that suddenly made a lot more sense, as well.

"Emma," he said with a tight voice, and she spun around to look at him. "What a lovely name."

Granny Lucas shoved a wad of bills at him with pleasantries that he could scarcely focus on with all his energy taken up with maintaining some semblance of composure with the savior now standing where he had always known she must. He had waited for her and she had finally come and now all he had to do was wait for her to break the curse.

He stepped out into the night air and almost fell flat on his face. He'd nearly forgotten the damn cane – there was no magic here, he was frail and crippled again. It was a minor misstep, and not one he was going to let put a damper on his spirits. The savior was here, what else did he need?

Rumpelstiltskin relished the walk home, taking in everything as though for the first time. That woman used to be a milkmaid. This man played fiddle so well it was said he could outplay the devil himself (and Rumpelstiltskin had come out fairly well on a deal with him). This town was about to start to wake up, and all he had to do now was wait for it.

He let himself into his house, trying to keep from whistling in his excitement.

"There you are," he heard Lacey from the stairs. "I was beginning to worry."

He instantly tensed at her presence as she came up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders to help him with his coat. How had he forgotten this most important detail in his excitement? Out of all the people in this world, Belle was perhaps third only to Cora and the pirate who had stolen his wife on the list of people he hadn't wanted to ever see again. Belle had left him, and now Lacey was living in his home. Oh, gods. What was he going to do?

Lacey could tell something was wrong with him, of course, because Lacey was smart as hell and usually he relaxed when she touched him, whereas tonight he couldn't force his muscles to unclench.

"You okay?" she asked idly, brushing her hands across his shoulders as though getting rid of some invisible dust. He just wished she would stop touching him, which was the only reason he finally shrugged out of his coat and let her take it from him.

His first reaction was to toss her out in the street – after all, Belle had found herself another true love. Let that man deal with her. But he wasn't just Rumpelstiltskin anymore, and this wasn't Belle. Mr. Gold couldn't let go of Lacey yet; she was the one good thing in his life and he had come as close to loving her as he could. Anyway, Rumpelstiltskin couldn't afford to start acting strangely now: Regina would be on edge with the savior in town.

"I'm fine, dear," he finally got out. "Just a little tired."

He shot a pointed glance to his cane and hoped she wouldn't press the issue.

"Right," she said softly, draping the coat over her arms absently. "I'll be in bed, then."

Rumpelstiltskin didn't miss the irony that having traded powerful magic for the girl on a lark, falling in love with (and getting his heart broken by) her, and taking every single step to preserve her honor and spare her his company, seventeen years into a curse he had inadvertently ruined her and their relationship had become the exact thing he'd been accused of wanting her for in the first place. He was torn between hoping she didn't hate him too much when she woke up, wanting to be completely rid of her, and wishing for other things he didn't dare put into words.


	16. The Price of Freedom

_The Enchanted Forest, six weeks pre-curse_

The secret to flying, apparently, was to think happy thoughts, although Belle was still pretty sure that the liberal sprinkling of fairy dust that Nova had managed to smuggle her hadn't hurt matters at all. She had decided not to tell anyone when she was leaving, because the only way she could guarantee that her maid Nora wouldn't be caught having helped her was if she was truly surprised when Belle left.

Over the last few days, she'd sewn coins into the lining of her cloak, prepared her traveling clothes and stolen a dagger. Today, she'd asked for extra food, saving what would travel in a bag. It wouldn't last long, and she'd need to buy more as soon as she got to another town, but it would have to do. She'd been on her own with far less to start with, after all.

Her mind went automatically to the months she'd spent in Rumpelstiltskin's castle. He may have forsaken her, or maybe he truly had just been trapped in a cell, but her time with him had been the happiest of her life. She would love him forever, no matter what else happened. She had no real plans to return to him, but she still hoped that someday their paths might cross. Maybe he would apologize, maybe she would forgive him. Either way, she didn't regret the deal she'd made and she hoped she never would.

As she stood on the bannister of her balcony, she filled her mind with thoughts of their tentative courtship, and the way she'd loved how he was so terrified of her, and then she jumped.

_Storybrooke, 2011_

Something was up with Gold, and Lacey was pretty sure that something was tall and blonde and new in town. He'd been acting funny for a couple weeks now – distant, distracted, and completely uninterested in her. Lacey was just about at her wit's end with it.

When your man started to look elsewhere, conventional wisdom was to either look back at what attracted him to you in the first place or else look at where he was looking now. Lacey could do a lot of things, but transforming into a tall blonde wasn't one of them (well, she could bleach her hair, but she decided to save that for an emergency), so that just left the one option. If he missed the slutty barfly, Lacey could be a slutty barfly. She would have been the first to admit that she'd let herself go a little bit since settling into domestic tranquility – she'd started dressing differently, more like a wealthy wife than a trophy girlfriend. In hindsight, that had been a mistake.

So she raided the back of her closet, pulling out tight miniskirts and low cut blouses and towering heels. She went back to the heavier eyeliner and wilder hair. She stopped just short of going out and coming home drunk (she didn't want to leave him alone that long) and the few times she'd feigned drunk and thrown herself at him had ended with him sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms, so she'd pretty much stopped drinking altogether.

Ruby noticed, of course, because Ruby was her best friend. Lacey was also spending a lot more time at the diner as well. It was a social hub for the town during the day, and she had taken to lurking over a lemonade and waiting for Emma Swan to wander in. The woman spent almost as much time there as Lacey did, and considering that Lacey was doing some spying that was kind of pathetic.

Emma hadn't been in as much the last week or so, though. Or at least not for as long. Her roommate had been involved in a John Doe waking up from a coma and since then Lacey guessed things had been a little busy for them. She still came in with the mayor's kid sometimes, though. Lacey had _that_ little tidbit filed away for the future. She had no particular fondness for Mayor Mills, but there was a difference between liking the woman and sharing an enemy with her.

"You've _got_ to stop," Ruby said as she brought Lacey a Cobb salad and a refill on her drink.

"Stop what?"

"You know what," Ruby replied firmly. "You've been in here every single day for lunch for two weeks and you've been watching Emma Swan the entire time. Not that I mind the company, but this isn't healthy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lacey said matter-of-factly. "I just got sick of eating lunch at home alone is all."

She heard the door open and felt her eyes sliding to the newcomer against her will.

"Lacey." Ruby leaned forward to physically block her from staring at Emma as she walked in. "Is there something I need to know?"

This got Lacey's attention back on her friend.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Ruby sighed, coming around the counter to stand next to her friend. "Is there some reason you're stalking my customers? Is everything okay with you at home?"

Lacey bristled at that, largely because the doubt was well founded.

"It's fine," she replied. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"Look," Ruby continued. "I know that I wasn't always super supportive of you living with him because he's old and also evil," she flashed Lacey a look that made her smile in spite of herself at her friend's teasing, "but honestly, he's been good to you so far. And if he's not being good to you anymore, then you can definitely do better."

"It's not about that," Lacey admitted. "I can start over. I have my nest egg. It's just...I don't know. Never mind. You're right, I should go."

She jumped up, dropping some money on the counter and dashing out even as she heard her friend calling after her. Ruby was right, this obsession with Emma Swan was insane. For one thing, throwing herself at him clearly wasn't working and dammit, it hadn't worked to begin with, either. Gold had always liked her aloof and sometimes angry. Anyway, she didn't have much, but she had her dignity still. And more importantly, she had the ability to start over if she needed to.

Gold might be an asshole, but he'd always been generous with her and if he kicked her out she had enough jewelry hidden away to make a go of it somewhere else. She was under no illusions about being able to stay in town – Storybrooke wasn't precisely crawling with wealthy bachelors, after all, and she'd barely been more than tolerated before moving in with the most feared man in town. They would completely tear her apart if he left her. Nope, Lacey was going to have to get out of town. Boston seemed nice, but New York wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility either. She could start over and make a new life for herself someplace else, somewhere she could be anonymous.

Yeah, that was what to focus on. Not Gold and his apparently wandering eyes, but instead the possibility of starting over. This had never been her plan for retirement, after all. She'd always meant him to be a stepping stone to something better, and she shouldn't fault him for being that for her. No, her best move now was to go home and make a plan for her future without him. Not that she meant to give up, but she needed to remember that even without him she would be okay.

Lacey spent the rest of the day going through her jewelry boxes (she had one on a bureau and a few others stashed around the house in places he never looked) and making estimates of what she thought his gifts would be worth. He'd given her an expensive piece of jewelry every birthday, Christmas, and Valentine's Day that they'd been together, as well as assorted ones for special occasions. She must have been here a couple years now, but it never ceased to amaze her how much jewelry that man had bestowed on her in such a short period of time. The first couple boxes yielded about $15,000 or so between them, and by the time she'd checked through them, the sun had gone down.

He was late again, she realized as she stashed the collection under her bed (with his leg the way it was, anything she really wanted to keep secret was better hidden low than high). She'd forgotten to order dinner, but then again if she _had_ remembered he'd have missed it anyway. She had half a mind to storm down to the shop and confront him about it, and honestly that probably wasn't a bad idea. If nothing else, it'd make her feel a lot better.

She spent the short walk into town mentally rehearsing her angry monologue. She thought she might start with something like, _were you planning on coming home tonight at all or should I just start having your mail sent here?_ No, that was too wordy. _What was so interesting you couldn't call to tell me not to wait for dinner?_ Might work. Oh whatever, she always did better with yelling at him when he was in front of her. She'd figure something out.

As she rounded the corner to the pawn shop, the first thing she noticed was the door was open. That was...not right. He never forgot to lock the door and definitely didn't leave it hanging open. There was also glass on the ground. It would have probably been a good idea to call the sheriff instead of wandering into the darkened building, but something pressed Lacey onwards. There was a strange little electric tingle running up and down her spine that told her this was something she should do.

She crept silently into the building, which was lightly illuminated by the streetlights outside – just enough to shed light on what appeared to be a dead body sprawled across the floor.

Lacey screamed, retreating towards the still open door at the sight of her lover's body immobile on the ground before her with blood flowing from his temple. She'd hated him the last few weeks, but hadn't wanted it to end like this. He stirred at her scream, and Lacey nearly collapsed in relief. He was okay. She was going to kill him, but he was okay.

She was by his side in a moment, running careful fingers over his head, finding the cut (which was much smaller than she'd thought) and pressing a pocket handkerchief from his coat over it.

"Gold?" she said as gently as she could manage. "Are you alright?"

"Belle?" he murmured, before seemingly remembering himself. "Oh, Lacey."

He sounded relieved to see her, which was enough for her to be willing to overlook that apparently she wasn't his first choice of rescuers, whoever _Belle_ might be.

"Thank God," she breathed. "I thought you were dead."

"No, no," he sat up slowly and she kept the cloth against his head as he did. "I'm fine. Really."

"What happened?"

"Merely an angry customer. Rest assured, it will be taken care of tomorrow."

"This is more than an angry customer," she almost shouted. "You could have been killed!"

"But I wasn't," he snapped. "Anyway, can you go to the back to get me some water?"

"Why?"

"I...was pepper sprayed," he admitted.

"I'm calling the sheriff," she replied firmly, beginning to rise.

"No," he stopped her. "Don't call the sheriff. I'll deal with it tomorrow."

She only relented because it was the longest conversation they'd had in a month.

"Fine," she said as she got to her feet and went towards the back to get him a glass of water. "But I'm coming with you to handle it!"

Whatever he said she couldn't hear over the sound of the faucet, but if he thought she was going to stay home while he went gallivanting off who knows where to deal with someone who assaulted him, he had another thing coming.


	17. All That Glitters

Rumplestiltskin really should have known better than to let Lacey take care of him. She'd been acting strangely recently – though she likely would have said the same of him – and allowing her to invite herself into his new life could really only end badly for him.

The fact that she had announced this morning that if he was going to insist on getting himself murdered then she was coming along to at least help identify the killer probably counted as "ending badly."

The truth was not nearly as interesting or dangerous as Lacey seemed to think – to wit, future unwed teenage mother Ashley Boyd (alter ego of Cinderella) had decided not to sell her baby. He couldn't fault her for that; he hadn't even wanted her baby to begin with anyway. However, the fact remained he needed Emma Swan to owe him a favor and Ashley (or Ella) still owed him one herself. If anything, he was being overly merciful to the girl.

Belle would have been horrified at him for essentially holding a pregnant woman hostage. Lacey would be pissed that Ashley had attacked him. He couldn't deal with either of those reactions right now.

Rumplestiltskin had made a study of Belle in the old world, and Mr. Gold had spent ten years with Lacey at his side. They were clearly separate people – they wouldn't even have gotten along – and anyone could have seen that. He doubted anyone else would have been able to explain their similarities like he could, though. Both women were fiercely loyal (Belle had traded herself to save her people, and Lacey was still loyal to him even though she looked like she wanted to strangle him). Both were clever, though he knew Lacey tried her best to hide that fact. Both were daring, both felt trapped by life, both had seen him as an escape from their fates. The list went on.

None of that was particularly comforting, though, as Lacey maintained her death grip on his arm while they made the short walk to the apartment Emma shared with her mother (but she didn't know that yet, did she?). He had wanted to go alone, but Lacey had flatly refused to stay at home. He couldn't outrun her, which meant his options had been limited to letting her come along or letting her follow him down the street (while probably hurling obscenities towards him) like the world's least subtle stalker. The path of least resistance won the day.

"Gold, don't lie to me," she said, interrupting their stiff silence. "Why won't you go to the sheriff? Are you doing something illegal?"

"What if I was?"

He actually had no idea about the legality of selling children or acting as a baby broker here, but he suspected he might be in some trouble if he actually had any intention of taking the child – or if he lived in a town that wasn't created by a curse.

"I'm not going to turn you in," she replied, sounding mildly affronted at the implication. "I just want to know what I'm getting myself into."

"If it bothers you, you are under no obligation to stay with me."

If he hadn't known her so well, he would have missed the flash of hurt that shot across her face before being covered up by her annoyance at his re-opening that argument. Rumplestiltskin took a perverse pleasure in driving her away like he had driven off Belle: both would be lost to him as soon as the curse broke anyway and back to a man who had spent twenty-eight years as an abusive drunk, because Regina thought she was just so damn funny. It would be a small mercy to be rid of her sooner. The part of him that was still Mr. Gold hated that he had hurt her, though. It was a strange sensation, having these conflicting personalities in his head. Mr. Gold, who was cruel to everyone, but who had loved Lacey in spite of himself and had been in awe of her every move, and Rumplestiltskin, who had sold his soul to save his son and then been abandoned by everyone he ever loved. The two conflicting men threatened to rip him apart from the inside out.

"So where are we going?" she demanded. "Or is that going to be a surprise?"

"I suppose you're going to find out sooner or later," he sighed. "Alright, we're going to visit Emma Swan. I need to hire a bounty hunter and she's the only one in town."

"And who are we hiring a bounty hunter for?"

She had tensed up as soon as he mentioned Emma, and he hadn't missed it.

"The person who attacked me," he finally admitted. "I'm going to hire her to find the person who attacked me."

"Alright then," Lacey said as she purposefully straightened her shoulders and stood a little taller. "Let's hire a bounty hunter."

No, there was no way this was going to end well for Rumplestiltskin, although Mr. Gold was still drawing some comfort from her refusal to leave him. This was becoming more complicated by the moment.

Emma wasn't sure who she pissed off in a previous life, but she hoped they were pleased with themselves when she swung open the door of the loft to reveal a smiling Mr. Gold and his very angry girlfriend standing there. He at least seemed to be aiming for friendly (he missed, but that was besides the point), but Emma was pretty sure she'd never seen the girlfriend without a frown on her face, and even for a town this small she saw the girlfriend a lot.

Emma made a mental note to run that little coincidence by Mary Margaret later, because it seemed a little fishy now with the petite brunette glaring daggers at everyone while her boyfriend tried to make nice.

"Hi," he said. "My name's Mr. Gold. We met briefly on your arrival. And this" he gestured to the angry brunette, "is Lacey."

"I remember," Emma replied.

She still hadn't quite figured out why everyone in town was so scared of him. Sure, he was rich, but there were loads of rich guys in the world who people didn't cower at the sight of. He apparently owned a lot of the town, but keeping landlords from abusing tenants was sort of why leases were invented. Storybrooke wasn't exactly the sort of town that could support a mob boss, which severely limited her other theories. There was really no reason for everyone to be so scared of him that Emma could see, and that made her wary.

"I have a proposition for you, Miss Swan," he continued. "I need your help. I'm looking for someone."

Lacey looked a lot like she wanted to say something, but refrained.

"Really?" Emma prompted him, still looking between the two. She could feel Mary Margaret hovering nearby and desperately wanted to ask her friend what the hell was going on.

"You know what?" Mary Margaret broke in. "I'm going to go jump in the bath."

Well, so much for friendship.

"I have a photo," Mr. Gold added, pulling the picture out of a breast pocket and handing it to Emma. "Her name is Ashley Boyd. And she's taken something quite valuable of mine."

Emma recognized this Ashley – she was the pregnant maid she'd spoken to at the diner the other day. Something wasn't quite right.

"So why don't you go to the police?"

Lacey looked like she had a solid death grip on his arm at this point, and Emma wasn't really sure she wanted to know what was going on with those two.

"Because," he flinched a little bit and Emma was pretty sure Lacey had fingernails in his upper arm at this point. "She's a confused young woman. She's pregnant, alone, and scared. I don't want to ruin this young girl's life, but I want my property returned."

"What is it?"

Emma shouldn't accept this job, but she kind of needed the money and Storybrooke wasn't exactly a town crawling with opportunity for women whose sole work history was in crime and the prevention of said crime.

"Well, one of the advantages of you not being the police," he said flippantly, "is discretion. Let's just say it's a precious object and leave it at that."

"When'd you see her last?"

Ah dammit, she was going to take the job.

"Last night," he said simply, prying his arm out of Lacey's fingers and brushing his hair off his face revealing a nasty cut. "That's how I got this. It's so unlike her. She was quite wound up, rambling on and on about changing her life. I have no idea what got into her. Miss Swan, please help me find her. My only other choice is the police, and I don't think anyone wants to see that baby born in jail now, do they?"

He was playing her, but it was going to work.

"No," Emma replied. "Of course not."

"So you'll help me, then?"

"I'll help _her_," Emma clarified. She'd gotten Ashley into this, and she was going to get her out of it.

"Grand," he replied as Lacey slipped her hand back through his arm. Damn, that girl could cling.

"Hey Emma," Henry's voice rang out cheerfully as he burst through the door. "I was thinking, we –"

Henry stopped short as soon as he saw Gold and Lacey.

"Hey Henry," Gold said with what Emma was sure was supposed to be an indulgent smile. "How are you?"

"Okay," he said softly, and Emma just wanted Gold away from this kid. Her kid. He was hers.

"Good," Gold said cheerfully. "Give my regards to your mother. And good luck, Miss Swan."

"Yeah," Emma replied, shutting the door behind them as Gold and Lacey made their exit. This was going to be a long day.

Lacey had been in a mood since she'd found him on the floor the night before, or maybe it was even longer than that. Rumpelstiltskin had no idea, though he was pretty sure Gold would have. Gods, what the hell was he going to do about the woman?

"So you got beat up by a pregnant teenager," she said matter-of-factly from where she was leaning against a display case in the pawn shop. She had insisted on coming with him to work, but hadn't said a damn thing since they left Emma Swan's apartment that morning.

"I got pepper sprayed and robbed by one, yes," he replied. "Was there a point?"

"Just wondering why you can't tell me that but you can tell a stranger."

"You mean why I can tell the bounty hunter I hired?" he snapped. "And you were there when I told her."

"But you refused to tell me when I asked," she argued. "For an entire goddamn night."

"What is this about, Lacey?"

"What do you think it's about?"

"I wish I knew," he said. "But I have no idea. Please, enlighten me."

"Are you sleeping around?" she finally shouted. "Why the hell is this baby so damn important to you?"

"Are you honestly asking me if this is my child?"

He couldn't believe his ears. Of all the things he'd been prepared for her to accuse him of, impregnating Ashley Boyd hadn't even crossed his mind. He actually laughed, which just seemed to make her more angry.

"You're acting strange, Gold," she said darkly. "That's all I'm going to say. You're acting really fucking strange."

She was holding her mouth tight as she turned and stalked into the backroom. Fine, let her seethe if that's what she wanted to do. Maybe she'd get angry enough to leave finally and he could be rid of her. This double life was beginning to take a toll on him. If she left, at least nobody would question it. Since half the town had expected her to take off in the night a week after she moved in, nobody would be surprised at all. He could play the bitter ex for a few months and by then hopefully all of this would have blown over. It would have been perfect, except she was flatly refusing to leave and he had no idea why.

Well, no, that wasn't true. Gold had no idea why. Gold had never understood why Lacey stuck around in the first place, and Rumpelstiltskin had to stop approaching her as Gold would if he wanted to get through this. Gold had never been poor, but Rumpelstiltskin had. Gold didn't understand Lacey's need to control him in any way she could (though he'd definitely enjoyed it), or her strange obsession with jewelry – the bigger the better. Rumpelstiltskin understood, though, and a part of him actually admired her for it. Lacey had never had power over anyone, including herself, so she had clung to whatever power she could take for herself and the jewelry had been her safety net. Gold had never thought twice about why he never saw her wear the same piece for more than a few months, he just bought her more (and gods but that woman must have a stash someplace that would have made a dragon blush), he'd never have understood that she didn't want him to think about how much she had hidden away.

Lacey was clever and shrewd, moreso than Gold had ever given her credit for. Rumpelstiltskin let out a sigh and glanced towards the curtain that separated the back from the rest of the store. Maybe he'd been too hasty in wanting her gone. He still wasn't sure he liked her, but she could be a valuable asset in the wrong hands. At least kept close he could keep her from Regina. And who knows, maybe Lacey could be useful to him in her own right.

His phone buzzed and he glanced down at it. It was the hospital. Emma would have found Ashley by now and he was hopefully being called to come collect the baby. This was where all his hard work would pay off. He could leave the shop now and Lacey wouldn't know, but she wouldn't forgive him either. Maybe Gold still had too much control over the situation, or maybe he wasn't deluding himself about her potential as an ally, but either way he found himself moving toward the back room.

He would have to apologize (though not beg, thankfully), but he couldn't risk Regina using Lacey against him the way she'd tried to use Belle – or at least he couldn't risk it _yet_. Time would tell whether or not this was a gamble that would pay off, but he knew the game better than most.

"Lacey," he called out. "I'm going to the hospital now. They found Ashley."

She appeared at the curtain, looking tentative and determined and confused and so very _Belle_ that for a moment he forgot who she was here and felt his heart skip a beat.

"Are you asking me to come with you?" she said after a pause.

"If you want," he said with a shrug. "I won't stop you."

She crossed her arms and stared him down for a second. Belle wouldn't have let him get away with that, either.

"I'm not having an affair, Lacey," he said curtly though he could barely look at her as he said it. "And certainly not with a high school student. It's business, that's all."

She didn't look like she entirely believed him, and he was sure he hadn't heard the last of it, but she still nodded and came around to take his arm as he left for the hospital.


	18. Cuckoo's Nest

Emma Swan had been in town since October. Christmas was coming up soon, and Lacey was making plans to be gone by the new year. There wasn't anything left in Storybrooke for her, really. She'd made a thorough inventory of her jewelry collection, and she was pretty sure it would be enough to start over again someplace else. She wasn't sure where yet, but she was going.

Things with Gold had been going downhill since Emma showed up. Lacey had tried everything she could possibly think of and none of it had worked, and she wasn't the kind of girl to wait for him to kick her to the curb. If she was going to go, she was going to do it on her own terms. Let him see how easy she was to forget. Maybe she'd get her own trophy boyfriend for a little while – or at least find some musclebound hunk to hole up in a hotel room with for a long weekend until she couldn't remember her own name or what she was running from.

It wouldn't be so bad if he would at least pretend like he wanted her around. He seemed to have been making an effort to at least include her for awhile after the thing with the baby, but it hadn't taken long before he was back to the same damn bad behavior all over again. By the time the sheriff died, they weren't even sleeping in the same bed anymore. He'd moved into one of the guest rooms, leaving her the master bedroom to herself.

After he'd moved out of the room, she'd entertained the idea of bringing someone else home with her just to spite him – she'd even gone out a few times for exactly that reason – but never actually went through with it. Besides, if there were any men in town dumb enough to have an affair behind Mr. Gold's back there sure as hell weren't any willing to do it in his fucking house. She just wanted him to catch her in the act, was that so wrong? Either he'd be angry enough to fight her about it or he wouldn't care, but at least she'd know where she stood then. It would be miles better than this limbo where he wouldn't kick her out but hardly acknowledged her existence, either.

So yeah, Lacey was as good as gone. She'd stay through the holidays to say a proper goodbye to her dad and Ruby and then that was it. There wasn't anything left for her in town – no job, no prospects, and no boyfriend to speak of.

That didn't mean that she wasn't going to plan for this, though. She'd had a doctor's appointment scheduled to renew her birth control anyway, and she didn't see any reason to let that lapse just because Gold wasn't taking advantage of it. She hadn't had a period in a couple months, and that was well worth whatever he was paying as far as she was concerned.

"Good morning, Lacey," Dr. Whale said as he walked into the exam room. "What brings you here today?"

"I need a refill on my birth control," she replied with a coy grin. He had a bit of a reputation around town, and Lacey was beginning to get desperate. "And I guess a physical, too."

He nodded, seemingly oblivious to her feminine wiles as he flipped through his clipboard. Had she just lost her touch or something?

"The nurse says your blood pressure looks okay," he said off-handedly. "And you don't smoke, so that's good for the risk of blood clots. But you haven't had your last two periods?"

"Is that bad?"

"It's unusual," he replied. "You should still be getting light ones if nothing else – at least on this pill, anyway."

"So what's that mean?"

She was beginning to get nervous. He wasn't looking at her, just his charts, and in her experience that was _never_ a good sign with a doctor.

"It means we're going to run some tests," he said, finally looking at her.

Right, tests. Tests were normal, tests were things doctors liked. They'd do some tests and she'd be back on track to get away.

Rumpelstiltskin had really planned to be in the shop after the debate. Emma had done beautifully, calling him out in front of the town and standing up for all that was good and true in the world. He couldn't have planned it better had he given her a script. She really was everything he could have hoped for in a savior.

He'd wanted to seem like she'd shamed him into hiding, at least for a little while, but home meant Lacey and things with Lacey had gone back downhill. So it was a surprise to get a phone call from her a few hours before voting closed.

"I need you to come home," she said. It sounded like she either had been crying or was trying to stop herself from crying, but neither possibility was good. Lacey wasn't a crier, so this meant something was very, very wrong.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Just come home," she replied with a hiccuped sob. "Now, please."

"Alright, I'm coming."

He was torn someplace between fear and resentment. Lacey wasn't Belle and he needed to keep that in mind, but she still wore Belle's face and that was enough to make it very hard not to hate her for her betrayal in spite of the little voice that kept reminding him that he had been the one to throw her out. Nobody had ever told her to stay gone, had they?

Rumpelstiltskin was well aware that he was being irrational, but he'd come to terms with it. Belle had broken his heart; was it really so wrong to want to avoid her at all costs? Even getting more attached to Lacey than he already was could only backfire spectacularly when the curse broke and Belle inevitably returned to her true love, after all. He harbored no illusions about the fact that she would only resent him more for what had happened between them. And yet here he was, rushing to her side because she was crying. He was hopeless.

The house was eerily quiet when he got home. He'd half expected there to have been another break-in or maybe a fire – or at least an angry Lacey stomping through the living room and screaming about something he'd done wrong. There was nothing, though, and that set him on edge.

He found her finally, she'd curled up on the leather sofa of his study and was staring straight ahead with tears running down her face.

"Lacey?" he said cautiously as he walked into the room. Crying like this was very out of character for her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm pregnant," she said softly. "I went to the doctor and he gave me a test and I'm pregnant."

The words struck him straight through and rooted him to where he stood. Lacey was pregnant – _Belle_ was pregnant. He was going to be a father again, he was going to have another chance. The lightness he felt at her news immediately crashed down around him – Belle wasn't his wife, Belle wasn't his mistress, Belle wasn't his girlfriend. Whatever Gold and Lacey had been, Rumpelstiltskin and Belle were not. Belle had another man she had been supposed to marry, and he had a son he desperately needed to find.

There was no way he would be allowed to raise this child.

Lacey was looking at him expectantly and he realized he hadn't spoken since she'd told him she was having his baby and he probably should say _something_ at least. Unfortunately, as a man who made his way in the world with his ability to twist words to his advantage, he couldn't actually think of any right now. This was too big for words, so he just said the first thing that came to mind.

"How?" he finally blurted out.

He winced as he said it, and then quickly ducked as Lacey leapt to her feet and sent a glass paperweight sailing past his head.

"_How?!_" she shrieked. "Did you really just ask me _how?_ Immaculate fucking conception, Gold. How the fuck do you think?"

"I'm sorry," he replied, holding his hands out towards her in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. "I just...weren't you on the pill?"

"Apparently that doesn't always work," she huffed. "Which is just my fucking luck."

The idea that she'd done this on purpose briefly flicked across his mind, but he ignored it. She was clearly upset, and he just didn't see Lacey as the sort to get pregnant accidentally on purpose just to trap him. If she wanted him that badly (which he didn't think she did, but still) she wouldn't have resorted to this. Especially since they hadn't had sex since Emma arrived in town, and she had no reason to pull anything like this then. Oh gods, he was completely sunk.

Rumpelstiltskin allowed himself a moment to wish he hadn't woken up and that he was still Mr. Gold and he thought she was just Lacey, just his girlfriend. Mr. Gold hadn't loved much – hadn't really loved Lacey, in fact (though he'd come close) – but he would have loved his child. He would have married Lacey – because that is what you do when a woman is carrying your baby – and while she might not have been thrilled about the baby, she would have been happy to have that security, to know her home with him was permanent.

Their daughter (and he just _knew_ it was a daughter, needed it to be a daughter) would have grown up knowing she was loved and cherished. She would have gone to all the best schools and had every opportunity denied to her mother. She'd have been pretty and smart and Gold would have been happy. It was a beautiful vision of a life, but it was not _his_ life.

He would likely never raise this child. If he was lucky, Belle would at least allow him to know her and to care for her from afar, but he didn't dare hope for even that. If Belle's intended didn't cast her out knowing she carried the beast's child (though the man would be a fool not to love the little girl for being Belle's daughter; Rumpelstiltskin was sure he could have loved any child of Belle's if circumstances had been different) then another man would raise this baby that should be his.

It was the worst sort of torture, knowing that both of his children would grow to adulthood without him. He couldn't think about that right now. This baby would have a mother, but his son had no one. Bae had to be his priority right now, regardless of anything else. After he'd been reunited with his son he could worry about this.

"What do you want to do?" he finally managed to ask her. That was a good question, at least. He could give Lacey whatever options he could, though it hurt him to think on them too hard.

"I don't know," she replied. "Dr. Whale says if I want to – to terminate the pregnancy, I'll have to go to Bangor or Boston. There's nobody nearby who can prescribe the pills – some city ordinance or another. I just don't know what to do."

She had collapsed on the sofa again and he screwed up whatever affection he could muster for her and came to sit with her, putting an arm around her and letting her cry on him.

"It'll be alright," he promised, though he couldn't actually guarantee such a thing. She couldn't leave town even if she wanted to. "We'll figure it out."

"I was going to leave," she admitted through tears. "I had plans and everything and I know you don't really want me here anymore and I was _going to leave_ and then I went to the doctor and now..."

Now she was trapped with him. Trapped as surely as Belle had been. It seemed to be his destiny in any world to force her into a corner with him.

"It's alright," he said softly, more to say something than because it actually _was_ alright, but she still seemed to appreciate it. "I've been an absolute bastard to you, I know. I'm sorry. I'll do better, I promise."

He was actually sorry, too – that surprised him. For better or worse, they would share this connection now. He couldn't help but feel some guilt for how this had transpired. She'd not asked for any of it.

A thought occurred to him, wild and terrifying: the baby may not be his. Princess Ella had been pregnant for twenty-eight years while the curse went on; perhaps Belle had been in the early stages of a pregnancy when the curse hit? If it had been the first few weeks, she may not even have known it yet. This new idea knocked the wind from him. On the one hand, he hadn't wanted another child, but now that he may have one he wasn't sure he could stand it if it turned out to not be his. Rumpelstiltskin loved children, really. Having a second one had been a dream he'd given up not long after Bae was born and Milah didn't want to touch him anymore. This just wasn't really the right time or place for that, though. Gods, this was terrible.

By the time Lacey had finally calmed down enough to decide she needed some time alone to think, he knew what he had to do. Nobody had slept in the bedroom they had consummated their relationship in since that first night, and he didn't think the sheets had been changed since then (in his defense, Gold hadn't really realized how many years had passed and Rumpelstiltskin had far too much going on to worry about a room nobody ever slept in). He took a deep breath before peeling back the sheets, revealing a small smear of blood – brown from age – that neither one had noticed ten years ago.

He sat down hard on the edge of the bed and put his face in his hands. This baby was his. Belle had been a virgin, and the baby was his. He couldn't wrap his head around this. It had been a thought he'd always hated himself for with Bae, the way he constantly wondered whether or not the boy really was _his_ son. He'd searched for any sign of himself in his child, and always came up disappointed. Bae was brave where he was a coward, Bae was generous where he was selfish, and Bae was strong where he was weak. Physically, he'd been his mother's child through and through. Rumpelstiltskin had stayed up more nights than he cared to own wondering after Bae's paternity, and it had taken him more years than he wished to count before deciding that his son was his in every way that mattered regardless of who sired him.

He wasn't proud of much in his miserable life, but he had been proud of Bae, and he had been proud to love him.

This baby, though, could be his in every way. He wouldn't ever have to wonder, except that he wouldn't have the chance to stay up late watching it sleep and counting its breaths, or to tend its skinned knees and soothe its hurts when it cried. He had to remember that this wasn't a child he would be a father to – if Belle decided to let him do so, he wouldn't turn her down, but that thought was so far-fetched that he didn't dare give it room to grow into a hope.

He had a reputation for stealing children away, but even more than he didn't want another one of his children to grow up without him he didn't want another one to grow up without its mother, either. In a choice between himself and Belle, he knew which one had the capacity to be the better parent. He would do right for this baby, even though it already felt like it was killing him.

Oh gods, what was he going to do?


End file.
